


An End To Forever

by flawedamythyst



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton's Tragic Past, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystical bullshit, References to Suicide, Secrets, Welsh Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-05 13:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 64,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Clint thinks that the secrets in his past mean that he's never going to be able to have the relationship he wants with Bucky, but then his brother finds some information that gives him hope. All he has to do is take out half the Hydra bases in Europe first. Easy, right?All 3 parts of this fic are written, and should be posted over the next fortnight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to 1electricpirate for betaing.

Clint was warm and heavy on Bucky’s chest. He hadn’t flinched away at all, hadn’t even tensed, when Bucky wrapped his metal arm around his shoulders to keep him close. Bucky could feel the sweat cooling on his body and there was a distinctly sticky patch where Clint’s thigh was draped over his hip, but he wasn’t about to get up to shower, not right now.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had sex, but it was the first time it felt like it meant something. They’d had a handful of quickies over the last couple of months, usually after a mission or when absolutely nothing was going on and they were both so bored that falling into bed, or the nearest broom closet, just made sense. Tonight, though– tonight they’d both had a craving for pizza and no one else had, so they’d gone out together, and dinner had stretched into drinks before they came back to the Tower. Clint had let Bucky kiss him in the elevator, slow and purposeful, then followed him back to his room as if he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Bucky could feel it in his bones. This was it. He was going to get to have this properly, to eat and sleep and laugh with Clint, maybe even to eventually tell him how he felt about him. That he was the first person to make Bucky’s heart light up since Hydra, that Clint made him feel things he hadn’t been sure he could feel, that he’d thought anything this soft and easy had been burned out of him long ago.

Clint let out a quiet sigh and let his leg slide off Bucky’s as if he were about to move. Bucky tightened his arm around him, not ready to give this up just yet.

“I need to go,” said Clint, without moving any further.

“Don’t,” said Bucky. “Stay. There’s plenty of room for two guys to sleep in this bed, and it’s not like you’ll have to go far for clean clothes in the morning.”

And that way he’d get to sleep next to Clint, to wake up next to him and see his sleepy morning smile and ridiculous bedhead, things that he usually only got if he managed to be in the kitchen when Clint stumbled in for the first coffee of the day.

Clint pulled away, sitting up and shaking his head. “Nah, better not.”

Bucky propped himself up on his elbows. “C’mon, it’s late. What’s the point in going all the way back to your room now?”

Clint looked down at him and the tired look on his face made the happiness drain out of Bucky’s heart. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I think this is gonna be the last time we do this.”

“What?” asked Bucky, sitting up. “Because I asked you to sleep here? Jesus, Clint, c’mon, we’re–”

“No,” said Clint, then made a face. “Well, not entirely. Look, man, I don’t want to be that asshole, but it kinda feels like you’re developing feelings, and I don’t– I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

Bucky stared at him, completely blind-sided. Half an hour ago, this guy had kissed his way down Bucky’s chest to his navel, then run his fingers along his sides and laughed when he found out Bucky was ticklish there.

“It doesn’t seem like I’m the only one with feelings,” he managed. “Or are you pretending that ain’t true because, what? Because you’re scared of emotions, or commitment, or being anything other than all alone with nothing but memories of meaningless one night stands?”

Clint winced. “Yeah, okay, I probably deserve that,” he said, then got up off the bed and started pulling his clothes back on. “I’m sorry, I shoulda ended this after last time, tonight was a mistake.” He paused in the middle of doing his pants up. “I do like you, Bucky, and you’re not wrong. That could become more. But I don’t do relationships.”

That hurt like a knife to the chest. “Fuck off then, asshole,” hissed Bucky, clenching his fists to stop himself from throwing something.

Clint pulled on his t-shirt, giving Bucky an unfairly wide-eyed look of regret and apology. “I really am sorry.”

“Fuck off,” said Bucky again, and Clint finally left.

Bucky collapsed back onto the bed and drew in a deep breath, clenching his jaw to stop all the emotion taking over. He should have known it would end like this. He just wasn’t destined for happiness.

  
  


**** 

  
  


The next couple of weeks were awkward. Bucky tried to keep away from Clint, but when he lived, trained and saved the world with the guy, it wasn’t always easy. Not to mention that the others had got used to Clint and Bucky hanging out together, so after few days of Bucky walking out of a room when Clint walked into it, everyone else was giving them concerned looks.

Steve was the first person to actually bring it up, because of course he fucking was. “Are you gonna talk to me about you and Clint?” he asked, midway through a sparring session, when Bucky didn’t have a hope of escaping.

“Nope,” said Bucky. “Nothing to talk about.” He sent a fist at Steve’s face, hoping that would distract him. No such luck.

“Because it seemed like you were getting along pretty well, before,” said Steve, ducking Bucky’s fist and sweeping his leg around at his ankles.

That wasn’t a question, so Bucky didn’t bother answering it and Steve finally gave up, at least until they were rubbing down with towels after the session.

“Bucky, if something’s upsetting you, I want you to know you can talk to me about it. And if there’s a problem on the team, then I want to help fix it.”

“Nothing to fix,” said Bucky, because apparently Clint was just the kind of guy who ran a mile once casual sex started meaning something, and even Captain America couldn’t fix that.

  
  


**** 

  
  


Two days later, Clint came into the kitchen at breakfast with a suitcase in his hand.

“Going somewhere?” asked Tony, raising his eyebrows. Bucky stared at his cereal and pretended he wasn’t paying any attention and didn’t give a shit.

“Yep,” said Clint. “I had a trip planned next week, but I thought I might go now, get a bit more time out there, you know.”

“Anywhere nice?” asked Steve.

“The UK. It’s kind of a reunion thing,” said Clint. “I’ll be back in a week or two, you won’t even miss me. Hey, uh, Bucky, can I talk to you before I go?”

“Nope,” said Bucky, taking another mouthful of cereal and eating it as passive-aggressively as he could.

“C’mon, man, just give me a minute,” said Clint and damn it, did he have to sound so sincere when he begged?

Still, Bucky stuck to his guns. “I’m busy.”

Steve glanced over at Tony. “Well, I think I’ve finished eating, what about you, Tony?”

“Yep, definitely,” said Tony, grabbing up his coffee mug, and they both skedaddled out of the kitchen, leaving their half-full plates behind.

Steve Rogers was a fucking traitor and Bucky was going to tear him apart next time he saw him. And steal his bacon now.

“Look,” said Clint, stepping forward while Bucky did his best to pretend he was alone in the room, “I get that I was a dick, I wanted to apologise. I shouldn’t have let things get that far.”

Bucky glared at him, then dropped his spoon into the bowl and straightened up, because if they were doing this, then he was going to fucking well do it. “Or maybe you shouldn’t have cut and run,” he said. “It seemed like we coulda had something, I don’t get why the fuck you’d throw that away. And don’t give me that ‘I don’t do relationships’ bullshit, what fucking possible reason can you have to not want to be happy? It’s not like there are a whole heap of chances for that in life.”

Clint shook his head, and he actually had the gall to look upset by the whole thing. “I’m not gonna get into it, I just wanted you to know. I am sorry. I’m gonna be away a few weeks – when I get back, do you think we can be friends again? I miss that.” Bucky felt his reaction to that show on his face, and Clint held up his hands. “Okay, or if not friends, maybe at least be civil, you know?”

Bucky took a deep breath and pushed back some of the hurt so that he could manage rationality. Clint hadn’t ever actually said or done anything that implied they were doing anything other than having the occasional friendly fuck, and he did seem genuinely sorry that he’d managed to lead Bucky on. Plus, it wasn’t good for the team for things to be like this.

“When you get back,” he agreed.

Clint’s face lit up with a smile and Bucky’s chest leapt instinctively at how beautiful he looked like that. Fuck, this was going to be unbelievably shitty.

  
  


**** 

  
  


The day before Clint was due back from his trip, Natasha cornered Bucky in the gym. She climbed onto the treadmill next to his punching bag and started jogging, waited a few minutes so that Bucky was lulled into a false sense of security by the rhythm of her feet, and then went straight for it.

“I’ve known Clint for nearly ten years, and he’s never done anything more than casual hook-ups.”

Bucky groaned and dropped his fists to stare at her. “Seriously?”

She ignored him. “There’s been guys I know he coulda had more with, that he’s liked as much as they liked him, but he’s always done this. Stepped back and drawn a line the minute it got to that stage.”

“Great, so I’m not special,” said Bucky, turning back to the bag. He wasn’t going to ask how she knew so much about what had happened with him and Clint, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Either Clint had told her all about it or she was using her spy skills on her teammates. Either felt like a betrayal.

Natasha sighed. “I just wanted you to know. It’s just Clint. He’s very set in stone, you know, he doesn’t ever change his mind on this kind of thing. If you can’t be on a team with him–”

“I can be on a team with him,” interrupted Bucky. “Not sure I can be on a team with you if you keep poking at my personal life.”

She was silent for a moment. “That’s fair,” she said eventually, and hit the button to speed up the treadmill.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


Clint had thought he’d be the first to arrive in Haverfordwest but when he got to the hotel they’d picked for this decade’s reunion, Thomas was already ensconced in the bar, broad shoulders hunched over as he stared down into his drink.

“<If you’re already drunk when Rhys gets here, he’s going to lecture you,>” said Clint, sliding into the seat next to him. Falling into the old language again was always a bit of a jolt at these reunions. The first few sentences felt like pushing through wet concrete, then it was like a switch flicked and it all fell back into place.

Thomas snorted, straightening to look Clint over. He’d let his hair get long again, rough dark curls falling around his eyes and brushing his collar, and had a thicker beard than Clint had seen on him for years. It made him look a little like a mad hermit, but he guessed it worked for a reclusive poet as well.

“<He’ll lecture me no matter what. I may as well give him a good reason. He’s going to lecture you as well, you know. What happened to keeping a low profile?>”

Clint snorted, catching the bartender’s eye and nodding at what Thomas was drinking. He’d know which of the local brews was worth having. “<Hey, I was a secret agent. It doesn’t get any lower profile than that. It’s not my fault there were aliens.>”

“<We’re blaming the aliens, are we?>” said Thomas. “<You’re here early. Should I ask why? Is it that you’re avoiding someone?>”

Clint couldn’t help wincing at that, and a grin broke out over Thomas’s face. “<Ah, that’s it then. One of your super-powered friends, I suppose?>”

Clint took his drink with a nod of thanks to the bartender. “<I have no idea what you’re talking about,>” he lied. “<I just thought it might be nice to spend a few extra days in the motherland.>”

“<Wales is a good country to pine in>,” said Thomas, taking a long draught from his beer.

Of the six of them, Thomas was the only one who had never left Wales. He’d moved around to avoid attention, as they all did, but he always stayed west of the English border. He was also the only one who’d had a wife and children before this all started, which might have been related.

“<I’m not pining,>” said Clint, earning himself a knowing look. Right, he couldn’t lie to these guys, they’d known him far too long. “<We were just casual,>” he said, giving in because, really, who else was going to understand? “<But I let it keep going for too long. He developed feelings.>”

“<And you?>” asked Thomas.

Clint drained his glass and signalled for another. “<I should have known better,>” he admitted. 

Bucky was exactly his type; he never should have let himself get close in the first place. And now he was stuck pretending that the hurt radiating from Bucky every time they were in the same room didn’t feel like a stab in the chest. Fuck, that last time they’d had sex, as Clint had lain warm and satisfied beside Bucky, he’d actually caught himself daydreaming about staying there the whole night, and then going out for breakfast together in the morning.

He couldn’t let himself get close to people like that. It was bad enough that he’d built friendships like the one he had with Natasha, he couldn’t go letting himself fall in love as well. It would only end up hurting them both.

Thomas slapped a hand to his shoulder. “<I’m sorry, bach.>”

“<One day I’ll learn how to just love ‘em and leave ‘em,>” said Clint.

Thomas laughed. “<If you haven’t learnt by now, I think it’s fair to say that you never will.>” There wasn’t a malicious edge to it, but Clint still felt his words like a stab because, God, that was depressingly true. He should have had enough practice at not getting attached and yet, every time he found himself right back here, with people who he was too close to and who he was going to have to leave behind sooner rather than later.

“<Fuck it, let’s get hammered,>” he said.

Thomas cheered and gestured at the bartender. “<Shots!>” 

By the time the others turned up, Rhys got to be disapproving about both Clint and Thomas’s hangovers. Clint thought he probably quite enjoyed it.

“<Ah, let him be,>” said Llywelyn, grinning at Clint. “<It’s time my little brother learnt to drink like a man.>”

“<Fuck off, Llyw,>” said Clint miserably, squinting against the bright sunshine. Or, what counted for bright sunshine in south Wales, though it was bright enough to stab into his hungover brain.

Rhys directed disapproving stares at all of them, including Ifor and Griff, who didn’t really deserve it. He wasn’t wearing a dog collar, but he was dressed in enough black for it to be pretty obvious what his job was these days. Clint guessed he got to practice his glares on his parishioners. “<Are we going?>”

“<Of course,>” said Thomas, waving a hand. “<We follow in your footsteps, fearless leader.>”

Rhys narrowed his eyes at him, but turned to start walking.

The first time they’d walked this route, the whole area had been wild and they’d only known where to go by following the path of the brook. Now, they walked past a run of nineteen sixties terraced houses and a McDonald’s before heading down a narrow lane with a wooded slope on one side and a field going down to the brook on the other.

At the end was a caravan park. They all stopped at the gate to look at it, as if staring would make it melt away.

“<You know, this was a more dramatic pilgrimage before they put this in,>” said Thomas.

“<It was even better when the cave was still here,>” added Griff, tipping his sunglasses up to look around. He’d been living in Spain long enough for the sun to have bleached his hair a blonder version of his natural mousey brown. Combined with his tan, you’d have been hard-pressed to recognise him as Welsh at all. “<Gave you something to shake your fist at.>”

“<One day, we will come here for the last time,>” said Rhys, because he always wanted to make this a dramatic moment. “<We will complete our quest, bring the cauldron here, and free ourselves.>”

“<Sure,>” said Llywelyn. “<Maybe next year?>”

“<I can do March,>” said Thomas.

“Are you boys looking for a caravan?” called a man in English, coming out of the portacabin office. “I’m afraid we’re all booked up.”

He glanced around at them curiously and his eyes caught on Clint’s face. He frowned as if trying to place it, so Clint casually turned as if saying something to Thomas, stepping behind Rhys to hide himself. Rhys was tall enough to be useful for that kind of thing.

“We were just having a walk,” said Griff, giving the man a little wave. “Nice area you’re in.”

They all turned and casually strolled away, trying not to look like crazy people. Clint didn’t think they’d really succeeded, but the guy seemed content to just watch them leave.

“<Right, now we’ve got that done with, how about a drink?>” said Thomas, switching back to Welsh.

Rhys sighed. “<Is that all you can think about?>”

Thomas shrugged. “<What else is there to think about? Besides, we all know that’s the real reason we get together every decade. So we can get hammered and let our guards down.>”

“<Let’s have lunch first,>” said Griff. “<I need something lining my stomach if I’m going to keep up with you.>”

“<McDonald’s?>” suggested Clint, and everyone groaned.

“<I’d rather eat the shit we had the first time we were here,>” muttered Ifor. He never said much, and when he did, it was usually a complaint. 

“<I cooked that shit,>” protested Llywelyn. 

Ifor fixed a black gaze on him. “<Exactly my point.>”

They did have lunch, then they stopped at an off licence on the way back to the hotel and holed up in Rhys’s room, drinking steadily through the afternoon and swapping updates on their lives. 

“<How was university?>” Thomas asked Griff. “<I was thinking about going back and doing modern Welsh literature the next time I change identities.>”

Griff considered that. “<I suppose it’s obvious that everyone there was young but, damn. Some of them were so very young. It’s a bit more factory line than it used to be as well, less one-on-one time with the professors. It was fine, though, especially if you’ve been there before.>”

Clint hadn’t ever bothered going to a university. He couldn’t imagine wanting to spend years just sitting around reading books, but Griff had wanted to be a teacher for his current identity, and these days it was harder to just rock up and claim to have experience at something without a million bits of a paper to back you up.

The jobs Griff had had over the years almost always featured children. Back when this had started, he’d been the one to realise that curse included not being able to have children. Clint had never been particularly bothered by that part, because it wasn’t as if he’d have been having kids anyway, but he knew it still weighed heavily on Griff.

“<Well, it’s been a few years,>” said Thomas, “<But it’s not like I haven’t got experience with the subject area.>”

“<They’re not likely to make you study any of your own works, are they?>” asked Clint. He’d lost track of how popular the poetry Thomas had published under his current identity was, although he must be doing okay if he was living off it.

Thomas gave a shrug. “<Maybe. I know it’s on the syllabus of a course at Aberystwyth, but I was thinking of heading to Cardiff next.>”

Clint tried to remember how long Thomas had been living under his current pseudonym. Eight years maybe? He’d moved up to Porthmadog a year or two after Clint had started at SHIELD, and he lived pretty quietly, out of the public eye, so he probably had a few more years before people started to get suspicious that he didn’t seem to be getting any older.

Maybe that was why he’d grown the beard, as an attempt to look as if he’d aged.

“<You’ll need to move on soon too, Gwion,>” said Llywelyn. He’d kept suspiciously quiet about the details of his own current life, which probably meant he didn’t want them all to know just how deep he’d ended up in the criminal underworld this time. Or how deep ‘Barney Barton’ had gotten, and yeah, Clint was kinda bitter that Llyw was using being Hawkeye’s black sheep older brother to enhance his own reputation as a badass. “<What are your plans? How do you top being one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes?>”

Clint shrugged. “<No idea,>” he said. “<Something very quiet, a long way from New York, I guess.>”

He didn’t like thinking about it, but Llywelyn was right. He’d spent a long time as Clint Barton, and sooner or later someone was going to notice that he hadn’t aged a single minute since he’d first joined SHIELD. He needed to have moved on before then.

But he wasn’t going to think about it now. “<What age are the kids you teach, Griff?>”

Griff let him change the subject, telling them all about the children in his class while Clint grabbed himself another drink. The whole point of this was to get wasted, after all, and he wasn’t anywhere near close enough.

Once they were drunk, they switched to telling the old stories they’d all already heard hundreds of times before and then, once they’d really got hammered, they sang a few of the old songs. By that stage, Thomas had passed out in the corner and the rest of them weren’t far behind.

  
  


**** 

  
  


Clint stayed in Haverfordwest for a couple of weeks. Llywelyn, who never liked hanging about long, left after a few days, and the others drifted off one by one after that until it was just Clint and Rhys, who always insisted on being the last to leave. Clint had a feeling it was some kinda ‘captain goes down with his ship’ thing.

They strolled the countryside paths together, Clint taking advantage of the fact that no one expected to find an Avenger in Pembrokeshire so anyone who thought they recognised him decided they were just seeing things. It was nice to be incognito for a bit.

He was telling Rhys about the last time they’d taken down AIM as they walked along a hill ridge when Rhys glanced at him. “<You always find yourself a group,>” he said.

Clint paused. “<What?>”

“<Your team now, the other performers in the circus, an army unit,>” listed Rhys, like the unfairly observant asshole he was. “<You always find that kind of tight-knit group to surround yourself with. Why do you do it? You know you’ll have to leave them behind.>”

Clint just shrugged. “<Better than being alone, I guess.>”

Except he didn’t know that it was. At least if he were alone, he wouldn’t have to walk away from anyone when it came time for him to move on.

“<You want a family,>” said Rhys. “<You were the one who was most upset when we all decided to split up. And you can’t stand most of us.>”

“<Not true,>” said Clint swiftly.

“<You think I’m an uptight, self-righteous prig, you only like Thomas when you’re drinking, you find Ifor unsettling and you can’t be in the same room as Llywelyn for longer than an hour without taking a swing at him,>” listed Rhys. Wow, okay, apparently they really didn’t have any secrets from each other.

“<Llyw’s my brother, I’m meant to not be able to stand him,>” said Clint. He didn’t bother adding the polite lie that Rhys wasn’t that bad, because they’d had enough arguments down the centuries for him to know the truth. If they weren’t both stuck in the same position, Clint would have happily never spoken to Rhys again once they’d split the money from the job and parted ways the first time.

Rhys gave him one of his ‘I’m right and you know it’ looks, the kind that always made Clint twitch with irritation.

“<You didn’t mention Griff,>” he pointed out.

“<Oh, it’s impossible to dislike Griff,>” said Rhys. They’d reached the top part of the ridge and he paused to look around at the view. “<You should go home tomorrow. Stop running from whatever it is and spend time with your team.>” He paused as a bird called somewhere nearby. “<You don’t have much longer with them,>” he added, quietly.

Clint looked around at the Welsh countryside, at the patchwork of fields that had covered over the wild woods of his youth. “<Yeah, okay,>” he agreed, because Rhys was right.

Maybe if he weren’t right so often, Clint wouldn’t find him so irritating.

  
  


**** 

  
  


He flew home the next day. As soon as he got to the Tower’s penthouse, Tony appeared from the elevator.

“Our merry man is back! JARVIS, tell the others we’re having team dinner tonight, no excuses.”

Clint grinned at him. “What if I’m jet lagged and just want to nap?”

“Not allowed,” said Tony. “Didn’t you just hear me? No excuses.”

Sam and Steve came out of the kitchen. “Hey man,” said Sam, coming over to give him a quick hug. “Tell Steve why it’s not cool to make us go on a training mission the same week as the season finale of  _ Brooklyn Nine-Nine _ .”

He stepped back so that Steve could replace him, giving Clint the super-soldier version of the hug, which hurt a little but in a way that meant someone cared about him. “Good to have you back. Tell Sam that training is more important than any TV show, especially when he can just watch it when he gets back.”

“Oh, no,” said Clint. “No, I’m with Sam. Training can be rescheduled, but this is the Nine-Nine, man.”

Natasha was waiting for him in his room, which would have made him jump if he hadn’t been expecting it. She looked him over with narrowed eyes. “You haven’t been fighting,” she said.

“Nope,” said Clint, setting his bag down. “I told you it wasn’t a mission.”

Her glare didn’t relax. She’d taken it pretty badly when he’d refused to tell her where he was going other than that it was a reunion of sorts with some people she didn’t know, and then even worse when he’d asked her to promise not to pry into it. For someone who liked to keep all her cards close to the chest, she hated not knowing things about her friends.

Usually Clint was okay with that, because it wasn’t as if she’d even know where to start looking to find any secrets he actually wanted to keep, but trying to explain a trip to Wales to hang out with five men who, on paper, he’d never met, wasn’t worth the effort.

“It wasn’t a holiday either,” she said. “You’re not relaxed. It was emotionally draining in some way.”

Right, he didn’t have to tell her anything for her to be able to see the important things. “That’s true,” he said. “Which is why I’m glad to be back with the people who I can relax with.”

She nodded, then headed for the door because things were getting too emotional for her. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Dinner with everyone there, all of them laughing and joking and clearly pleased to have him back, was pretty much perfect. Especially when Bucky walked in, paused in the doorway just to look at him while Clint pretended not to notice, and then came to sit down and actually nodded at Clint rather than glaring at him.

Fuck, Clint hoped that meant they could go back to being friends. He’d missed that.

  
  


**** 

  
  


Things with Bucky did improve, in that at least he wasn’t openly hostile to Clint any more, but they didn’t hang out like they had before. Clint tried to tell himself that was fine with him, and completely to be expected, but he missed the easy banter they’d had on missions and having someone just as focused to share the range with – not to mention someone to blow off steam with after a mission. 

He tried going out to a couple of bars where he could usually find a guy with no strings attached, but it didn’t seem to work the same. He always came away from the encounters feeling dissatisfied and a bit empty, which he tried to tell himself was because having sex with a super-soldier gave you unreasonable expectations when you went back to regular guys.

Except it wasn’t that at all, it was because having sex with a guy you liked was very different to having a quick encounter with a guy you’d just met. Fuck, why did he always make this mistake? You’d think after the first ten times of having his heart broken by letting himself get too emotionally involved he’d have learnt to not fall for someone he was only going to have to leave behind.

“Okay, I raise,” said Tony, giving everyone his shifty shark eyes as he threw another couple of matchsticks into the pot.

“Fold,” said Sam immediately, dropping his cards on the table.

Clint eyed Tony’s facial expression, trying to find a crack in it that might give him a clue to his cards. Tony just gave him a smirk that told him nothing.

“I’ll see you,” said Clint, adding a couple of his own matchsticks. Tony’s smirk just widened.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I hate this game,” he muttered, throwing a couple of his own matchsticks in.

“Seriously?” said Tony. “How can you hate this game? You have the best poker face I’ve ever seen. You just get that ‘I’m gonna kill you’ glare, and then everyone spends all their time worrying about a sudden stabbing instead of their cards.”

“No one’s getting stabbed,” said Bucky as Steve folded. “Not unless I find out they’re cheating.”

“Who would be cheating?” asked Steve. “I mean, come on, this is a friendly game amongst teammates.”

“Poker stops being friendly as soon as the cards are dealt,” said Clint, eyeing Natasha as she threw in her matchsticks.

“I guess that answers the question on who would cheat,” said Tony. “And it’s the ex-carnie, who saw that coming?” He threw down his cards with a grin. “Three Jacks. Read ‘em and weep.”

Bucky sighed and dumped his cards on the table at the same time as Natasha did. Clint just grinned at Tony. “I didn’t learn to cheat at poker at the circus. I learnt in the army,” he said, then laid out his hand to reveal his full house.

“Wait, so you are cheating?” said Bucky as Tony made a rude noise and Clint pulled the pot towards himself.

“For matchsticks?” asked Clint. “Yeah, not likely. Ask me again when Tony’s throwing some of his millions into the pot.”

“I didn’t know you’d been in the army,” said Sam. “Which unit?”

Clint shrugged. “Classified.” The best thing about being a secret agent was getting to use that whenever he couldn’t answer a question without raising even more questions.

“Seriously?” asked Sam as Tony dealt the next hand. “How classified can it be when your SHIELD HR file was leaked all over the internet?”

“His file doesn’t say anything about the army,” said Natasha, giving Clint a careful look that Clint returned with a bland smile.

“I told you. Classified,” he said again, which made her eyes narrow. He ignored her as he picked up his hand.

“That’s pretty classified,” said Sam. “And I thought Natasha had a lot of secrets.”

Bucky snorted. “Natasha’s just more honest about having secrets.”

There was a bitter note in his voice that made Steve’s eyes cut to him, and then back to Clint. Clint kept the mild look on his face as if he hadn’t noticed.

“I mean, you guys all know I was a spy,” he said. “Having secrets is pretty much spying 101.”

“Check,” said Sam, tapping the table.

Clint glanced at his cards again, then at the stack of matchsticks in front of him. “I bid five,” he said, throwing them into the middle.

“Damn, high roller,” said Sam.

Bucky wasn’t looking at his hand. He was still staring at Clint with a frown. “Secrets like where you were last month?” he said.

“Yep,” said Clint.

“You said it was a reunion,” said Natasha and, shit, how had Clint managed to get himself into a position where he was being interrogated by both Black Widow and the Winter Soldier? “An army reunion?”

Clint just shrugged at her. “Bucky, you calling or folding?”

Bucky’s scowl darkened. “I fucking hate this game,” he muttered again, and threw his cards down. “It’s nothing but layers of secrets and deception. I fold, and I’m out.” He pushed his matchsticks at Steve, then got up and stalked out.

Natasha watched him go, then turned back to raise an eyebrow at Clint. “I’m not sure that was about poker,” she said.

“No?” said Clint, as innocently as he could manage while his gut was knotting up. He hated all these fucking secrets as well, but there was no way he could come clean about everything. The only people he could be open with were the ones he’d just gone to Wales to see, and he wouldn’t be seeing them for another ten years.

It was always that little bit harder to settle back into the identity he’d built for himself when he’d just come back from Wales, even if he did like everyone here so much more than anyone he’d seen there, with the possible exception of Griff. Lying to people you liked about pretty much every part of your past was wearing.

They played a couple more rounds before the game came to a close. Clint gathered up his matchsticks, then headed back to his floor for the night. On his way there, he passed the door out to the balcony and saw Bucky out there, leaning on the railing and scowling at the city lights spread out below them.

He hesitated. Bucky almost certainly wanted to be left alone, but Clint knew that glare too well. It was the one he used when he was trying to cover up how sad he was. Shit, and that was Clint’s fault.

When he pushed open the door, Bucky glanced over and his scowl deepened, but he didn’t say anything. Clint leaned on the railing next to him and wondered where the hell he should start. There was no use in apologising for keeping secrets, not when he had no intention of stopping.

It was cold on the balcony, but Clint didn’t really feel it as he watched the city below and tried to work out what to do.

“So, here’s something no one else knows about me,” he said, eventually. “The first time I came to New York, I got a place in Brooklyn, right by Coney Island, and I used to go ride the Cyclone every chance I had. Several times a week I’d be there.”

Bucky turned his head to look at him. “Are you serious?” he said. “I mean, it was a big deal back when I was a kid, but didn’t it seem kinda tame by then?”

The Cyclone had only been open a couple of years when Clint had first moved there, but that was definitely on the list of things he couldn’t tell Bucky.

“There was nothing like that where I grew up,” he said instead. “When I was a kid I used to get told stories about dragons and think that the guys who went around killing them were going about it all wrong when they could be riding them instead. Going on the Cyclone felt like how I’d always imagined flying on a dragon would feel.”

Bucky looked back out at the view. “I guess I can see that,” he said. “I’d probably expect more fire, though.”

Clint grinned at him. “I wasn’t sure they’d appreciate me taking a flame-thrower along just to get the feeling right.”

“Yeah, seems like a good way to burn down a historic monument,” agreed Bucky. He turned to face Clint, leaning back against the railing. The shadows falling across his face highlighted the sharp line of his jaw and Clint had to look away to stop himself wanting to reach out and touch. “I didn’t know you’d lived in Brooklyn. Which part?”

“Bed-Stuy,” said Clint. “I was only there a couple of years before I went into the army.”

The French army, because he could tell that there was going to be another war and he’d wanted to be on the front lines. Except being on the front lines hadn’t lasted very long in the face of the German advance, so he’d spent the rest of the war in a partisan group, blowing up railway lines and trying to smuggle people out of the country before the Nazis got their hands on them. He’d wondered over the last couple of years, since meeting Steve, just how close he’d come to running into the Howling Commandos and what would have happened if he had. Would he and Bucky have ended up sleeping together then as well, pre-Hydra and having to hide from everyone?

“I always liked Bed-Stuy,” said Bucky. “I guess it was different in your time than it was when I grew up, though.”

“Probably,” lied Clint. 

They’d been in Brooklyn at the exact same time as well. Depending on how much Bucky had been part of the underground gay scene, they’d probably stood an even greater chance of running into each other there than they had in Nazi-occupied France. 

“You been back on the Cyclone since then?” asked Bucky.

“No,” said Clint. He’d thought about it a couple of times, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the same now, after learning how to fly quinjets for SHIELD.

“We should go,” said Bucky. “One of Steve’s Avengers team-building trips.” He sent Clint a flash of a grin. “Steve threw up when we went on it as kids.”

“Okay, then we’re definitely doing this,” said Clint. “If we tell Tony that, he’ll make sure of it.”

“That sounds better than poker,” said Bucky.

“Just be glad you weren’t around back when Tony kept trying to persuade everyone that strip poker was the way forward,” said Clint. “Thor was on the team then, let me tell you that you don’t want to compare yourself to a naked Asgardian.”

“I can’t imagine you had anything to worry about,” said Bucky in an easy drawl, flicking his eyes over Clint’s body. Clint saw the exact moment he remembered that he shouldn’t be flirting with Clint any more, because every muscle in his body tensed up, and the scowl Clint had managed to chase off his face came back.

“Not with my poker skills,” said Clint, trying to keep his voice light, but it was too late. The easy atmosphere he’d managed to create between them had turned frigid.

Bucky pushed himself off the railing. “I’m going to bed.”

“Good night,” said Clint, watching him go. Fuck, that had been so close to starting to fix things between them.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


Bucky hesitated outside the range when he heard the distinctive twang of a bow from inside. Part of him really wanted to just slink off and come back later, because it was easier to not be around Clint right now.

He’d said he’d try and be civil though, and Clint had made an effort the other night after poker, even if Bucky had fucked it up by being unable to keep his flirting under control.

He took a deep breath and headed inside. Clint glanced over and gave him a nod, then turned back to his target and kept shooting.

Bucky set himself up a couple of lanes away – not so far that it looked like he was avoiding him, but not close enough that Clint might try and make conversation.

He settled into a rhythm of shooting, blocking out Clint with all the single-minded purpose that he’d trained himself to when he’d first started being a sniper, but when Clint moved away from his target to the back of the room, his attention was distracted. Clint’s target was at the furthest distance and Clint was as far as he could get from it without knocking a hole in the wall when he pulled back the string and sent an arrow right into the centre of the bullseye.

It was probably weird that Bucky found good aim such a turn on.

“Good shot,” he managed, and Clint turned with surprise, as if he’d thought Bucky wasn’t paying any attention.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I still can’t believe you bother with such an archaic weapon though,” added Bucky, turning back to take his own shot so that he wasn’t looking at Clint’s face right now.

“What can I say?” said Clint. “Guess I’m an archaic kinda guy.”

“He said to the nonagenarian,” muttered Bucky, and earned himself a soft laugh. He bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything more. There was no point in getting in too deep, not when it was just going to end up hurting again.

Except he missed being friends with Clint as much as he did the chance they could have had at something more. Plus, now that he’d had time to cool off, he had a feeling he was being kind of a dick. He’d already acknowledged to himself that Clint hadn’t really ever pretended that what they had was anything other than casual hook-ups. That last time, with dinner and drinks first, that had been Bucky building up something that wasn’t there in his head. And yeah, maybe Clint handled it badly, but how long was Bucky going to punish him for that?

The next time he got to the range to find Clint already there, he told himself to suck it up and be a big boy, and went to use the lane next to him.

“In the mood for a little competition?” he asked, and the surprised look Clint turned on him was worth it.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Yup,” said Bucky. “Can’t let you go thinking you’re the best shot in this place.”

Clint laughed and turned back to his target. “You’re on.”

  
  


**** 

  
  


A couple of weeks later, Bucky went into the main lounge to find Clint stepping back from a dartboard he’d clearly just put up.

“Don’t you think this place has enough projectile weapons flying around?” he asked.

Clint turned around and gave him a wide, sunny grin. “Nope,” he said. He scooped up a set of darts and threw them up into the air, juggling them with ease. “Want a game?”

Bucky was impressed despite himself. “Where the hell did you learn to do that without stabbing yourself?”

“Oh, I have many unexpected skills,” said Clint, neatly catching all the darts in one hand and waggling them towards Bucky. “Comes of having way too much time to kill. C’mon, play with me.”

Bucky had only been planning to make coffee and then go down to the gym, so he nodded, reaching out for the darts. “Sure. What the hell can go wrong playing darts against the world’s greatest marksman and dart juggler?”

“I dunno that I’m the world’s best dart juggler,” said Clint. “Hey, should we have a wager on this?”

“No,” said Bucky. He didn’t remember playing darts before, although he was pretty sure he had some skills that would be transferable, but he wasn’t making any wagers until he had an idea of just how likely he was to lose.

He threw his first dart and wasn’t entirely embarrassed by the shot. Okay, good start.

Several rounds later and he and Clint were actually closer than Bucky would have thought. Or Clint was going easy on him, but that didn’t seem his style.

“How about we make this more interesting?” said Clint, pulling his darts out of the board. “We could throw over our shoulders. Or a blindfold, I bet I’ve got one somewhere–”

“I don’t need to know about your kinks,” said Bucky without thinking, and then winced inwardly because, actually, he really did want to know about Clint’s kinks, and now he was picturing him spread out naked on Bucky’s bed, blindfolded and with his hands tied to the bedposts. Damn. He swallowed to hide his dry mouth and added, “We’d only end up putting a dart in someone, and knowing my luck it would be Tony, and he’d get all dramatic about it, and then Steve would get all frowny about me attacking a team member and make us all do extra training as some kinda bonding thing.”

“You make a good point,” said Clint, thankfully glossing over Bucky’s slip-up. “I guess we’ll just have to keep playing the boring way. I can’t handle Tony being dramatic right now.” He took the darts from Bucky, fingers brushing over Bucky’s for an instant before he turned back to the board and gave it the serious, concentrated look he always used for targets.

_ I love that look _ , thought Bucky, and then, with a sudden, sinking sense of realisation,  _ I love him. _

Oh fuck, no. No, that was a terrible idea. Cold realisation flooded over his skin as he realised just how fucked he was. Clint threw his first dart and Bucky just stared at him, unable to deny the feelings that were surging in his chest. He loved the guy.

“You know what we should do, if we’re not going to get a blindfold,” said Clint, throwing his second dart. “Drinks! Darts always works better with a beer in your hand.”

“Sure,” said Bucky numbly. “I’ll get a couple.” He escaped into the kitchen and took a moment to curl over and press his forehead into his hands. Shit, this whole thing was never going to stop hurting.

After that, he tried so hard to get over it and somehow force his feelings to go away so that he could just be friends with Clint, but that turned out to not be so easy. He’d thought that seventy years of being emotionless would have given him some idea of how to control his feelings, but after a few weeks of trying, and failing, to stop his heart leaping in his chest every time Clint smiled, he had to admit that it felt more like the opposite was true.

Clint clearly never thought about all the times they’d fucked, which only added another stab of pain to the horrible mix of emotions Bucky felt when he was around him. They settled back into something close to the friendship they’d had before, hanging out at the range and playing computer games together, and Clint gave no sign that things had ever been different – that there had been a time when playing computer games had ended with frantic handjobs on the couch, and coming back from a mission had been a race to a shower large enough for both of them.

Bucky did his best to do the same, but it didn’t seem to make much difference how much time passed, it never got any easier. All Clint had to do was give that bright grin, or laugh with his whole body, and Bucky couldn’t hold back the flood of love and want that ran through him. Fuck, it should be easier than this to get over a guy, especially a guy who had made it so clear that he wasn’t interested.

“Alright, this is a dead serious and very important question, and I need you all to think hard before you answer,” said Tony, sweeping into the kitchen and heading straight for the coffee machine with the kind of manic energy that meant he’d been in the workshop all night.

The rest of the Avengers were at the table, eating the pancakes that Steve had finally managed to talk Sam into making. Only Steve and Sam bothered to look up at Tony as he did a dramatic turn and spread his hands.

“Why the hell has it been so long since we last went out for drinks?”

Clint shrugged. “We’re lazy assholes?”

“You’re the only one that actively enjoys going out and getting drunk now that Thor is on Asgard?” suggested Steve.

“We’re sick of getting mobbed by the paparazzi,” added Sam.

“We secretly all hate each other and can’t stand being in the same room,” said Natasha.

Bucky thought for a moment before putting in his own two cents. “There’s no point in going out when you’ve got more booze here than is in most bars?”

Tony let out a long sigh. “You are all boring party-poopers and I hate you,” he said. “Cap, Steve, my favourite team leader, don’t you think we need some bonding time?”

“I’m not sure forcing people to go out drinking counts as team bonding,” said Steve. “We could always do more training if you think there’s a need, though?”

Tony groaned. 

“You know,” said Natasha slowly, flicking her eyes over at Clint, “we do need to find something to do next Thursday. Going to a bar would work.”

Clint gave her a puzzled frown. “Next Thurs–” he started, then what looked like realisation hit and he winced. “Aw, Nat, no.”

“What’s next Thursday?” asked Sam.

“Clint’s birthday,” said Natasha with far more satisfaction than was really called for. Bucky hadn’t realised Clint’s birthday was coming up. Shit, what was he going to get him as a present that wasn’t going to give away just how in love with him he was?

“Which we don’t need to celebrate or do anything for,” added Clint quickly. “In fact, how about we don’t bother mentioning it again?”

“Hah, nice try,” said Tony. “Drinks it is.” He bounced on his heels. “This is going to be great, birthdays are the best.”

Clint curled over to press his forehead to the table. “They really are not.”

“What the hell can you have against a day when everyone pays you attention and buys you shit?” asked Tony.

Clint shrugged as he raised his head and turned his attention back to his pancakes. “I guess I’ve just seen too many of them now.”

Bucky snorted. “Oh sure, how hard for you to be such a geriatric.” He glanced at Steve. “Hey, can you imagine being as ancient as this guy?”

“It must be hell,” agreed Steve.

Clint rolled his eyes. “No one who skipped most of their life in deep freeze gets to comment.”

“How about a guy who must be at least fifteen years older than you?” asked Tony. “Cuz, I still fucking love birthdays.”

“I’m actually only a year younger than you,” said Clint, “but thanks for the flattery.”

Tony did a double-take, which would have been hilarious to watch if Bucky hadn’t been just as surprised. “What the hell? No way,” he said. “You can’t be older than thirty, thirty-five at the most.”

Clint gave him a wry half-smile. “January 7th, 1971,” he said. “See? Way too old for birthdays.”

“No fucking way,” said Sam. “Nope, no, I refuse to believe that. No way you’re seven years older than me, c’mon.”

Clint glanced over at Natasha. “Help me out here.”

She shook her head. “I can confirm that I’ve known him nearly ten years and he hasn’t really aged,” she said. “I can’t confirm how the hell he does it, given the crap he eats and the stress he puts his body through.”

Clint’s smile turned bitter as he dug back into his pancakes. “Lucky, I guess.”

“Well, that settles it,” said Tony. “We’re definitely having drinks to celebrate another year of our favourite non-aging archer.” He picked up his coffee and gave the room a grin. “I’ll book out a club or something.”

He left the room again and Clint sighed. “Fucking fantastic.”

Bucky slapped a commiserating hand to his shoulder. “Could be worse, he could have decided to invite the whole of SHIELD.”

There was a beep from Natasha’s phone and she glanced at it. “He’s sent a group email to the whole of SHIELD about it.”

Clint groaned. Bucky patted at his shoulder again, then made himself take his hand away before he got too involved in stroking over Clint’s muscles.

“Well, this is going to be fun,” said Sam, not sounding for a moment as if he believed it.

  
  


**** 

  
  


The next day, Bucky walked into the range to find Clint sitting against the wall, arms resting on his knees as he stared up at the ceiling with a blank look on his face.

“You okay?” he asked and then, because it was what he wanted sometimes when he felt like Clint looked, “You want me to fuck off and come back later?”

Clint shook his head. “Nah, just thinking,” he said, standing up and picking his bow up. “Shoot with me and help me take my mind off it.”

Bucky waited until they’d gone a few rounds before he asked, as casually as he could, “So what am I taking your mind off?”

“Nothing if you’re going to bring it up,” said Clint, then rolled his eyes at Bucky’s raised eyebrow. “Fine, okay. I was just thinking that I’m probably going to have to retire soon, and that’s gonna suck. Being an agent, and an Avenger, has probably been the best part of my life for… Well, for a long damn time.”

“Why the hell would you have to retire?” asked Bucky. He gestured at the arrows clustered in the bullseye of Clint’s target. “You’re not exactly losing your skills.”

“I’m getting older,” said Clint, heading down the range to pull his arrows out. “Can’t keep going forever.”

“Bullshit,” said Bucky. “You may be old on paper, but there was nothing old about the way you took Attuma down last week.”

Clint glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “Man, that was fun,” he said fondly, then shook his head. “Not the point. You, of all people, must know the difference between how old you look and how old you actually are.”

Bucky hadn’t ever considered that Clint might stop being an Avenger. “If you think you’re too old for going into the field, there’s still plenty for you to do on the planning and logistics side,” he said. “But it’s got to be a good few years before you’re past beating bad guys up yet.”

“Nah, if I’m retired, I’m gone,” said Clint. “I’m not hanging about for a desk job. Time for something new.”

Bucky’s stomach plummeted, although he hoped it didn’t show on his face. Was Clint just going to walk out of his life and disappear? Fuck.

“Agent Barton,” said JARVIS. “There is a man in the lobby asking to see you. He claims to be your brother.”

Clint froze. “Tell him to fuck off,” he said in a harsh voice. “Tell him I meant what I said about mooching off me.”

“He asked me to tell you that he has information you’ll want to hear, about ‘the thing’.” JARVIS’s voice was so dry on the last two words that Bucky could hear the quote marks.

Clint blinked very slowly, then lowered his bow. “Fuck,” he said to himself. “Alright, fine, tell him he can come up. Bring him up to the main lounge and put the rest of the place on partial lockdown, will you? He has a tendency to wander.”

He went to put his bow away and Bucky followed, already unloading his gun, because there was no way he was missing this. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Clint gave him a tight smile. “Yeah, pretty much no one does. He’s an asshole.”

“Oh, so that’s genetic,” said Bucky, and scored himself a smile that looked more real.

“Takes one to know one,” said Clint as they got into the elevator. Bucky just shrugged, because he’d never claimed not to be an asshole.

They made it to the lounge with enough time for Clint to position himself in front of the elevator with his arms crossed. Bucky retreated to sit on one of the sofas but he kept a hand close to one of the knives he had tucked away. Clint was clearly on edge and there had to be some reason for it.

The doors opened to reveal a guy who was taller and thinner than Clint, with darker hair and a nose that had been broken a few more times, but Bucky could still see the family resemblance in the colour of his eyes and the line of his jaw.

“Barney,” said Clint, flatly. “This better be good.”

Barney’s eyes darted to Bucky and then back to Clint and he raised an eyebrow. “You sure you want an audience for this?”

Clint shrugged. “There’s always an audience here. We’ve got a live-in AI, or didn’t you hear?”

Barney nodded slowly and came inside, looking around with curiosity. “All the mod cons, eh? A bit different from when we were kids.”

Clint snorted but his pose relaxed and he stepped back to allow Barney further in. “I can’t remember the last time anything was even remotely close to being like when we were kids.”

“True,” agreed Barney, and he settled down on a sofa with a grin. “Hi, I’m Barney. You’re Barnes, right?”

Bucky nodded at him. “Bucky Barnes,” he said. “I’m mostly here to satisfy my curiosity, given Clint hasn’t ever mentioned his family.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t,” said Barney, glancing over at Clint with something tight in his eyes.

Clint sighed. “You told JARVIS you had something. It better be good.”

Barney grinned. “It’s great,” he said. “I know, with 100% certainty, where it was seventy years ago, and where it almost certainly still is today.”

“You’re serious?” asked Clint, looking completely taken aback. “And you came here rather than to Rhys?”

“It’s your area of expertise these days,” said Barney, reaching inside his jacket and taking out a faded paper file of a kind that was far too familiar to Bucky, even before he saw the swastika on the front.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” he asked, leaning forward as Barney handed it to Clint.

“South America,” said Barney. “An old guy died, and his son was looking about to see if the information he’d found in his dad’s attic was worth anything on the black market. Most of it wasn’t, but this…”

Clint had flicked the file open and was scanning through it. “What is it?”

“It’s a list of the mystical bullshit Hitler got his men to gather up in the 1930s,” said Barney. “You know he had a thing for that crap, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all seen  _ Indiana Jones _ ,” said Clint, flicking to another page. “I don’t get– Oh.”

He stopped short at whatever was on the page, then looked up at Barney with wide eyes. “They had it? The fucking Nazis had it?”

“Yup,” said Barney, grinning. “Took it and put it in a storage facility because they thought it was useless–”

Clint snorted with derision, but Barney kept going.

“–and then after the war, that particular department was taken over by Hydra and went underground.”

“Hydra,” said Bucky. “What the fuck? What is this, Clint?”

Clint glanced over at him. “It’s a very long story. Let’s just say that there’s an artefact that we’ve been looking for for a while, and that finding it is important.” He held the file out to Bucky, tapping at a hand-sketched image halfway down the page. “I don’t suppose you remember seeing it around any of the Hydra bases they had you in?”

Bucky took the file and studied the image. It was a cauldron, decorated with a complex celtic knot pattern around the rim. He shook his head. “Not that I remember. Not the kind of thing they had me interacting with, though.” He flicked back to the first page, where the name of the unit was written out in heavy gothic print. “I know which base these guys worked out of, though.”

Clint reacted as if he’d been electrocuted. “You do? Seriously?”

“Yep,” said Bucky, glancing over to see Barney looking at him with a similar look of greedy hope. “It’s in Austria. It’s mainly just storage, so I never bothered going over to clear it out.”

There had been a time when he’d been planning to take out every single Hydra base, safe house and weapons cache that he could, before Steve and Sam had caught up with him and persuaded him to come to the Tower. They’d all worked together to take out the major bases, but there were hundreds of smaller ones that Bucky had figured would just shut down if they took out enough of the rest of the organisation.

“Might not even be manned any more,” he added.

“Well, that would be the dream,” said Barney. He looked at Clint. “Shall we check it out before we call in the others and get their hopes up?”

Clint snorted. “You just want to be able to rock up with it already in our possession.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” agreed Barney. “‘Oh, hey, I found this thing, that’s cool, right?’ That’d wipe the smug look off Ifor’s face.”

“He wouldn’t have a smug look if you didn’t set yourself up for him to best you every time,” muttered Clint, then he glanced at Bucky. “Hey, you up for jumping in a quinjet and heading over to Austria?”

“Sure,” said Bucky, grinning. “I always enjoy taking out Hydra, you know that.”

“You’ve got a bow I can borrow, right?” Barney asked Clint. “A super-hightech, Stark Industries bow with all the bells and whistles?”

“You can have my practice one,” said Clint, standing up.

“You’re an archer too?” asked Bucky.

“Sure,” said Barney. “Our whole family is, right, Clint? Has been for centuries.”

Clint sent him a glare and gestured at the corridor to his room. “Come on, I’ll get you set up.” He looked over at Bucky. “Meet you at the hangar.”

Bucky nodded and went to get his own gear.

  
  


**** 

  
  


Barney and Clint were arguing when Bucky got to the hangar.

“–much nicer one just hanging there, why the hell can’t I have that one?” asked Barney, gesturing at Clint’s weapons locker.

Clint slammed the door shut on his back up bows. “You should have brought your own bow,” he snapped. “Remember when I said you weren’t going to get to mooch off me?”

“We’re going into combat!” said Barney. “Are you really going to arm your only living brother with the shittest bow you have?”

“Yep,” said Clint. “Because my  _ only living brother _ has a tendency to just skip off with whatever I lend to him, and I never see it again. If I let you borrow my second favourite bow, we both know I’m not getting it back.”

“It’s only a bow,” said Barney with an eyeroll.

“Wrong,” said Clint, slinging his own bow over his shoulder. “It’s only  _ my _ bow.” He looked over at Bucky. “Ready?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. We letting the others know?”

Clint shook his head. “It doesn’t sound like it’ll be much of a fight, and this is a private matter.”

“A family matter,” amended Barney. “Not sure why you’re bringing this guy to start with.”

“Because I’ve taken out more Hydra bases than you’ve have hot dinners?” suggested Bucky.

“Because I trust him to have my back if it all goes to shit, whereas I only trust you to look out for yourself?” said Clint, then pushed his brother at the quinjet. “Come on, let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

For some reason, that made Barney laugh. “Oh, yeah, time. We’ve got so little of it.”

Clint glared at him and gave him another shove. “Shut up and get on the jet.”

Bucky followed them on, settling in the co-pilot’s seat as Clint started warming the engine up.

“Sit down, Barney,” said Clint as Barney lingered by the lockers at the back. “Don’t touch anything, or we’ll kick you out mid-Atlantic.”

Barney snorted as he came forward to take a seat. “Tch, where’s the love, Clint?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d float ashore eventually,” said Clint. “Nothing closer to a cockroach than a, uh, Barton, right?” There was a hard, bitter edge to his voice.

“I reckon every single Hydra agent probably comes closer,” said Bucky.

Clint threw a quick glance over at him. “Yeah, okay, good point,” he said, but he didn’t sound as if he meant it.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


Clint never stopped being impressed by just how fast quinjets could go and how easy it was now to jet off all over the world. After spending most of his life only able to travel at the speed his own feet could carry him, or a horse if he were lucky, being able to get from New York to Austria in only a handful of hours felt like some kind of miracle.

That said, being trapped on a quinjet with Llywelyn made the whole trip seem like it was taking an eternity.

“Don’t touch that,” said Clint, for what felt like the thousandth time, glancing over his shoulder. “Shit, this is like travelling with a small child.”

“I’m just admiring the tech you’ve managed to surround yourself with,” said Llywelyn, taking his hands off the array of buttons that he kept fiddling with.

“You’re just trying to find something you can steal,” muttered Clint.

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t start stealing parts of the plane while we’re mid-air. Seems like it might end badly.”

“Might end with me smashing his face in,” said Clint. They were over Austrian airspace now, closing in on where the base was, so he glanced over at Bucky. “Know of a good place to set down where they won’t immediately spot us?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, leaning forward to look down at the ground below. “There’s woods, I think I remember a clearing.” He gestured. “Down there.”

Clint nodded, bringing the jet in to land. He was trying very hard to treat this like any other mission, but he couldn’t help the leap of hope in his chest. If they actually found the cauldron today, he wouldn’t have to retire as an Avenger. He’d be able to keep the friends and the life he had now.

He’d be able to start an actual relationship with Bucky, if Bucky was still interested in that.

Fuck, Clint hoped he was still interested in that.

“What’s the plan?” asked Llywelyn. “Run in, all guns blazing, and take out anything that moves?”

“I guess that sounds like a Barton kinda plan,” said Clint, then couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Bucky and trying to work out what he should be saying to stop him asking too many questions. He guessed he should be showing some concern for Llywelyn’s safety when it came to facing an unknown number of Hydra agents. “You should probably stay back and let us handle it, though. You’re not exactly trained for this kinda thing.”

Llywelyn laughed. “Kid, I was attacking fortified locations with archaic weaponry when you were still being coddled on our mother’s knee.”

“Not like this you weren’t,” said Clint.

Bucky opened his locker and glanced over the weapons inside as if there were any chance of him only picking out a few, then started pulling them all out to strap on.

“No, not like this,” agreed Llywelyn, giving Clint a sly glance. “Things were pretty different last time we went into combat together.” Clint took a deep breath because he wasn’t okay with Llyw dropping all these stupid hints, but he couldn’t yell at him right now either.

Instead, he headed outside to get an idea of the area. It was a sunny day but there was a strong breeze, so he’d have to concentrate a bit on his shooting if any of the fighting took place outside.

Llywelyn followed him out, glancing around at the sky as well, then back over his shoulder at where Bucky was still strapping on knives. “So, what’s the real reason you brought him?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“I told you,” said Clint. “Back up from a guy I can trust.”

“Oh sure,” scoffed Llywelyn. “You’re really worried about getting killed.”

“Hydra have done a lot worse to people than kill them,” Clint pointed out. “Did a lot worse to  _ him _ . Or are you okay with the idea of them wiping my memory and turning me into an assassin, and then starting to ask questions when I don’t ever get any older?”

Llywelyn scowled. “I’m not okay with you thinking I’d leave you to that. You can trust me at least that much, you know.”

Bucky shut his locker and took a step towards the quinjet door, then hesitated and opened the locker up again to grab another gun.

“I might believe that if you weren’t the reason I’m in this mess in the first place,” said Clint.

Llywelyn took a very deep breath as Bucky finally decided he had enough weaponry and left the quinjet. “One day, you’ll stop blaming me for that and take responsibility for your own actions.”

“Not today,” said Clint. He looked at Bucky. “Ready to go?”

Bucky nodded. “The entrance is this way,” he said, and led the way confidently into the woods.

Clint followed him with Llywelyn a step behind. Bucky was using the belligerent stride he used when he was about to have the chance to beat up Hydra, and which Clint always enjoyed watching.

They’d got close enough to see a cliff through the trees ahead when Llywelyn let out a quiet breath of realisation. “It’s not because you want him watching your back,” he said. “It’s because you like watching his.”

Clint turned a glare on him. “Shut up, asshole,” he hissed as Bucky glared back over his shoulder. Shit, how good was his hearing? Had it been enhanced by the serum like Steve’s?

“Quiet,” snapped Bucky. “The entrance is just ahead.”

Clint nodded at him, then glared harder at Llywelyn, who just smirked back. Clint was beginning to wish he’d just left him tied up in the quinjet.

The entrance to the base just looked like any other cave, until you were a couple of feet in and could see the heavy metal door up ahead. Bucky rested his hand above the lock, then glanced at Clint and gave a nod. Clint notched an arrow and prepared himself, then nodded back.

Bucky punched his metal hand into the door, ripping down through the wires and short-circuiting the lock so that the door clicked open with a groan, followed a moment later by a blaring alarm.

Clint darted through the open door, bow up, but the lobby was empty and a thin layer of dust covered everything.

“Looks deserted,” he said as Bucky came up behind him, gun raised to his shoulder.

“I thought it would be,” said Bucky, but neither of them dropped their guard. Hydra bases could hide all kinds of nasty surprises.

Llywelyn just strolled over to the main desk and ran his finger along it, inspecting the dust. “Man, this is going to be even easier than I thought,” he said cheerfully – which, of course, was when a door opened and a man came out, frowning to himself.

Clint and Bucky both whirled around and aimed their weapons at him and he threw his arms up in panic. “<No! Don’t shoot!>” he called in German. “<I’m just the caretaker!>” He focused on Bucky and went white. “<Oh god,>” he stuttered, so he knew who he was. “<Please, please, I’m not– I’m just the caretaker!>”

“<Is there anyone else here?>” growled Bucky in the same language.

The caretaker shook his head several times. “<No, no, just me. No one else has been here in years, I swear. There’s just me and the dust.>”

Clint could see how tempted Bucky was to shoot him anyway, but after a tense moment, he lowered his gun. “Okay,” he said, and glanced at Clint. “We’re arresting him, though, right?”

“Definitely,” agreed Clint. “And I’m sure no one will notice if he gets a bit roughed up on the way.”

The smile Bucky sent his way made Clint’s throat clutch. Shit, Bucky used to smile at him like that when they were in bed as well. He made himself pull his gaze away and focus back on their surroundings, because he couldn’t let himself have that. Not unless this mission was a success.

They left the caretaker tied up in the lobby to wait for them, then Bucky led them down into the base. “The storage rooms are here,” said Bucky as they got to the bottom of a flight of steps. “All these doors along this corridor. If your bowl thing is here, it’ll be in one of these.”

Clint glanced at the rows of doors, then at Llywelyn. “Let’s hope there’s some kind of order.”

The first room was nothing but paperwork, all sorted in filing cabinets that clearly hadn’t been opened in years. Some of them had rusted shut. Clint glanced over it in case it was useful information, but most of it seemed to be invoices for things like stationery and kitchen supplies.

The next room was filled with furniture, rows of chairs stacked up in towers and a couple of large conference tables leaning against the wall. Llywelyn made a rude noise under his breath and banged the door back open, heading for the next room.

“It better fucking be here,” he muttered.

“It was your intel,” Clint reminded him.

The next room looked more hopeful. It was lined with rows of shelves stacked with boxes and random objects, some of which looked like weapons and some of which looked like the contents of a junk store.

“Are we going to have to check every box?” Clint asked, nudging the lid of the closest to reveal a stack of photos.

“They’ve got reference numbers,” said Bucky, opening another and making a face at whatever was inside.

“That’s only helpful if we know what the cauldron’s reference is,” said Llywelyn. He turned around to take the room in as if the cauldron would just start glowing to show its location, then made a face. “Fuck, this is gonna take all day.”

“Maybe not,” said Bucky from further up. “I found a computer. There might be a database.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, turning the computer on. There was a groan as the fan started up and the electronics were suddenly faced with having to work again after god only knew how long.

Llywelyn knocked a couple more lids of boxes as they waited, then frowned and pulled out a flesh-coloured piece of rubbery material. “What the hell?”

Bucky glanced over. “One of the masks that Red Skull used to use to look like a normal guy.”

Llywelyn flinched and dropped it. “Oh man, gross.”

Clint caught Bucky’s eye and started laughing, and a moment later Bucky joined in.

“Fuck you both,” said Llywelyn, and stalked off down an aisle.

There was a ping from the computer and Bucky turned back to it. “We’re in,” he said. “And there is a database, but it looks like it’s almost as old as I am.”

Clint went over to look at the screen, resting a hand on the back of Bucky’s chair and leaning in. The database was a dos program with a menu written in blocky capitals. Bucky hit option 6 for ‘search by item name’, then glanced back at Clint. “What’s this thing likely to be called? Weird cauldron?”

Clint shrugged. “Hey, Barney!” he called. “Come back with that file and tell us what it says for item name!” He glanced at Bucky. “Seems likely they won’t have changed it, right?”

“Hopefully not,” said Bucky as Barney came back out from between the shelves, pulling the file out from inside his jacket. “It says  _ Kessel von Herne _ ,” he said.

Bucky typed that in, then pressed enter.

The computer made a struggling electronic noise and a timer bar came up. They all held still watching it as it slowly ticked down.

“ _ Von Herne _ ,” muttered Clint, and glanced at Llywelyn.

“Yeah, I know,” said Llywelyn. “Nazi research is pretty shit.”

There was another ping on the system, and a record came up.

“Reference D-521,” read Bucky, and Llywelyn turned and headed back down the aisle. Clint followed him, trying to stop himself from breaking into a jog. Holy shit, were they really about to get their hands on the fucking thing after all this time? His skin was humming with anticipation as Llywelyn followed the shelves to the D section, then ran a hand over the labels until he found D-521. There was a faded brown box on the shelf above it.

“Oh fuck, yes,” muttered Llywelyn, pulling the lid off, and then he froze. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck!” He knocked the box on the floor, spilling a handful of papers on the floor, but nothing else. “It’s gone!”

Clint crouched down to paw through the papers as if they’d suddenly turn into the cauldron. He could see a mark in the dust on the top one in the shape of the base of it. Shit, it had been here. They were so fucking close, but it had slipped through their fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” said Llywelyn, then kicked at the box, making Clint start back out of the way of his foot. “Some asshole must have taken it already.”

Disappointment crushed down on Clint. He’d thought this was finally done with. He collapsed back against a shelf. “We’re closer than we have been,” he said, dully. There wasn’t much comfort in the thought. How long would it be before they were this close again?

“Is there anything about who might have it here?” asked Bucky, crouching to gather up the papers. He glanced through them, then sighed. “Okay, I don’t even know what language that is.”

Clint took them from him. “It’s Welsh,” he said, and glanced through. “Nothing useful. Most of it’s wrong as well.” He dumped the papers back on the ground.

“Someone must know who took it,” said Bucky. “It can’t have been that long ago.” He stood up. “Let me check the database again.”

Clint watched him walk back down to the computer desk. The realisation that he was still going to have to leave him, and all the Avengers, was crushing back down on him after the brief few hours of hope.

“We’re gonna be trapped like this until the sun explodes,” said Llywelyn, and he punched at a shelf. “Fuck.”

Clint allowed himself a moment to be heartsick with disappointment, then forced himself to stand up. All they could do was keep going, after all. They didn’t have any other choice.

When he came back to Bucky, he was glaring at the computer. “It just says  _ Entfernt von Forschungseinheit Caesar _ .”

“Removed by Research Unit Caesar,” translated Clint. “Great.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t remember that unit,” he said. “There were so many research units, technical units and engineering units, and no reason for me to remember any of their names.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Well, except for Технический отдел Василий.”

“Technical Unit Vasilij,” said Clint.

Bucky nodded. “They were in charge of the technical aspects of the Winter Soldier program.” He turned to look at Clint. “You know more languages than I realised.”

Clint shrugged. “I’ve been around,” he said, vaguely. “I only really know enough Russian to make sure I’m stealing the right top secret documents. And all the insults Natasha uses on me.”

“And Welsh?” asked Bucky, which was exactly the question Clint had been hoping he wouldn’t ask.

“Our parents taught us,” said Llywelyn. Clint turned to glare at him and got a frank, tired look in exchange. “<You’ll have to find it>,” he said to Clint in Welsh. “<You’re the one with all the access to intelligence about Hydra. You’ll need to find this research unit.>”

Clint stared at him. “<You’re making this entirely my problem?>” he asked, incredulously. “<Seriously? You’re the one working with bad guys!>”

“<Fuck you,>” spat Llywelyn. “<I steal things, I know thieves and fences. I don’t know neo-Nazi organisations or terrorists or any of that shit. You’re the only one who does, or do you think Griff has a list of Hydra’s units in his school?>” He slapped the file against Clint’s chest. “<Tag, you’re it.>”

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door open against the wall with a crash. Clint clutched at the file and stared after him, stifling the urge to start yelling insults. Fuck, this was exactly why he hatred being around Llywelyn.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”

Clint shoved the file inside his tac vest. “Fucking peachy,” he gritted out. “Just, fucking asshole brothers are the wor–”

He was cut off by the sound of rapid gunfire. He spun and sprinted towards it, pulling his bow off his shoulder as he moved, with Bucky a step behind him.

The shots were coming from the lobby. Clint threw himself up the stairs and burst through the doors, already sending an arrow into the nearest body.

A squad of Hydra agents had appeared and were firing at Llywelyn, who was crouching behind the reception desk. He took advantage of the distraction Clint and Bucky’s arrival caused to stand up and start firing, but Clint was too busy leaping into the fight to pay much attention. After the crushing disappointment, a brutal fight with a bunch of complete bastards was exactly what he needed.

He shot three of them before he was too close for arrows and threw himself into a hand-to-hand fight with two Hydra agents at once, keeping his hits swift and brutal. These fucking assholes had had the cauldron the whole time, and they’d just left it in a dusty box and then let some other fuckers wander off with it. He punched one of them in the throat, then spun around, ducking under a fist to drive a knife into an agent’s chest. He wasn’t in the mood to try and limit casualties, and it wasn’t as if these guys weren’t here with the sole purpose of killing them.

He was vaguely aware of Bucky fighting next to him, and Llywelyn sending arrows out from behind the desk. This unit were clearly just back-up because their combat skills weren’t anywhere close to good enough to face down two Avengers. He and Bucky were making short work of them, right up until the caretaker burst in from a side door with a flamethrower pack on.

“Hail Hydra!” he shouted, and aimed a jet of flame straight at Bucky, who dove frantically for the shelter of the desk, moving only a split-second ahead of the fire.

Oh, fuck that. Clint wasn’t having that at all. He sprinted across the lobby, zipping from side to side as the caretaker aimed the flamethrower wand at him. The guy was clearly inexperienced with the weapon and didn’t quite have a handle on how to aim with it, but Clint still heard a sizzle as his hair got too close before he threw himself into a somersault that ended with his hands clasped around the caretaker’s throat.

The caretaker fell backwards under his weight, letting go of the flamethrower wand as Clint squeezed tightly enough to choke him.

“<Where can I find Research Unit Caesar?>” he demanded in German. “<Who did you let take items out of your archive?>”

The caretaker stared up at him with a wild-eyed grin. “<Cut off one head,>” he choked out around Clint’s hands. 

Clint lifted his head and slammed it back down against the floor. “<I’m not gonna cut off your head, I’m going to take my time with you.>”

The caretaker’s grin grew wider, then froth bubbled up from between his lips. He convulsed and then slumped, dead.

“Fuck,” said Clint, dropping him with disgust. “Cyanide.” He glanced over his shoulder to see that Bucky had finished taking out the rest of the squad and was now glaring at him. “Why the fuck is a random caretaker wandering around with cyanide?”

“Why the fuck are you trying to kill yourself by running right at a guy with a flamethrower?” snapped Bucky.

Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, didn’t even get scorched.” He patted at his hair, but it felt like only the very tips had been burnt off. Given how much a mess his hair usually was, it probably wouldn’t even be noticeable.

“You ran right at him! Right into the line of fire! What kind of kamikaze bullshit is that?!”

“Relax,” said Clint, getting up and putting his bow over his shoulder. “Don’t you know I’m gonna live forever?” He couldn’t keep the bitter note out of his voice, but from the scowl on Bucky’s face he was too preoccupied with anger to notice.

“Not if you keep pulling these kinds of stupid stunts,” growled Bucky.

“Man, what it is to be loved,” said Llywelyn, sliding over the desk.

Bucky started like he’d been electrocuted and turned his scowl on Llywelyn, then holstered his gun with a sharp movement and stormed out of the base.

Clint glared at Llywelyn. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he spat out.

“What’s wrong with you?” returned Llywelyn, then switched to Welsh. “<You can’t tell them, you know you can’t tell them, you made a fucking promise, so why the hell are you flirting on the edge of it like that?>”

That was pretty fucking rich given some of the sly little comments Llywelyn had been making since he’d shown up at the Tower. Clint rolled his eyes. “<Like it fucking matters. We both know I’m going to have to move on in the next few months, he’s never going to see me again after that. None of them are.>”

“<And they won’t ask questions?>” asked Llywelyn and shook his head. “<Leaving breadcrumbs is stupid, Gwion. I thought you were cleverer than that.>”

Fuck, Clint hated his brother so much. “<Fuck you,>” he said, then repeated it in English for good measure. “Fuck you. I didn’t ask for you to come into my life and fucking judge it.” He turned on his heel and followed after Bucky, leaving Llywelyn surrounded by the corpses of Hydra agents. He was self-aware enough to know that he was far too pissed off to have a conversation with Llywelyn without saying something he’d regret, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. Fuck that annoying bastard and the way he always managed to put his finger on everyone’s sore spots.

Bucky was already back at the quinjet, storing his weapons back in his locker. “If we’re all done here, we should get back,” he said without looking around at Clint.

“I’m sorry about Barney,” said Clint, moving to open his own locker to store his bow. “He’s an asshole. There’s a reason I try not to see him.”

Bucky turned on his heel and glared at him. “I don’t give a shit about Barney,” he said. “I give a shit if you’re going around telling people about– about that kinda stuff. Private stuff.”

He looked hurt as much as he did angry, which Clint couldn’t stand to see. It was bad enough watching him in those first weeks after he’d put a stop to their thing when he was so hurt and angry all the time without Llywelyn dragging the whole thing back up just as they’d put it behind them.

“Oh, oh hey, no,” said Clint. “No, seriously, no way would I tell anyone about that. That was private. Llyw’s just an asshole who sees too much.”

Bucky blinked at him. “Llyw,” he repeated in a growl, mangling the pronounciation just as badly as English speakers always did.

Shit, Clint was the worst at this secret identity thing. “Barney,” he corrected himself. “Sorry, childhood nickname,” he added, hoping like hell that he sounded blasé about the slip.

“A Welsh nickname,” said Bucky, giving Clint a very intent look. “And your parents taught you Welsh.”

“Yep,” said Clint, turning back to his locker, but he’d already stored everything so there was nothing to do but pretend to settle the bow better in its holder.

There was a long pause, during which Bucky was clearly hoping for more, then he let out a long sigh. “More fucking secrets,” he muttered, slamming his own locker door shut.

Shit, Clint hated this. Hundreds of years and he still hadn’t gotten over lying to people he cared about. “You see why I can’t do relationships?” he said, because he could at least give Bucky this much honesty. “There’s so much I can’t tell people about me. You can’t build a relationship like that.”

Bucky sent him a dark glare. “Or you could just quit keeping secrets.”

Clint just shook his head, bone-deep exhaustion rolling over him. “I wish I could.”

Bucky snorted as if he thought that were bullshit, but he didn’t say anything further. He just headed for the cockpit. “Is your brother on his way?”

Apparently, the conversation was over. Clint guessed he couldn’t blame Bucky for wanting to end it.

He ducked down to look out of the quinjet door, but there was no sign of Llywelyn. Crap.

“Nope,” he said. “I’m gonna just run back to the base and check real quick, but I expect he’s fucked off and taken my bow with him. Just like I said he would.”

Bucky glanced back over his shoulder. “Be careful,” he said.

“Sure,” said Clint, and headed back into the woods.

Fucking Llyw, why the fuck did he always have to do this?

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


When Clint came back, he just shook his head at Bucky, then slipped into the pilot’s seat and started the pre-flight checks.

“We’re not gonna try and find him?” asked Bucky, because there was being pissed at your sibling and then there was abandoning them in an Austrian forest.

“No point,” said Clint. “If he’s gone, he’s gone. Looks like he found one of Hydra’s trucks and took that.”

“Right,” said Bucky.

Clint glanced over at him and gave a sort of half-shrug. “That’s just how Barney is,” he said. “He needed me to attack the base but as soon as that was done with, he fucked off.”

It had been a very long time since Bucky had seen any of his sisters, but he couldn’t imagine treating them like that. From the resigned look on Clint’s face, he hadn’t expected anything else.

“But the thing you wanted wasn’t there,” said Bucky as they took off, soaring up over the trees. “Surely the best place to try and find it from would be Avengers Tower?”

“Oh yeah,” agreed Clint. “Which is why he’s palmed it off on me now. I mean, it’s probably better that way. Having Barney help you with something means that you spend the whole time looking over your shoulder, waiting for the knife in your back.”

Bucky watched as the landscape passed by below them. He wondered if Clint’s refusal to trust the team with his secrets might have something to do with how little he was able to trust his brother.

“You gonna tell me why this cauldron is so damn important?” he asked, rather than dig into that mess.

He didn’t get an answer, so he looked away from the window to stare at Clint. “You know, since some guys just tried to kill me for going after it.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “No way any of those fuckers would have come close to killing you,” he said.

“Anyone can get in a lucky shot,” said Bucky, although he silently agreed with Clint. That unit had been pretty second-rate, even for a back-up Hydra squad.

“Jesus,” muttered Clint, glancing over at him, then he let out a sigh. “Look, it’s just a– a promise we made a long time ago, to retrieve it and return it to the proper owner. It’s just taken a lot longer than we thought it would, so we’re kinda eager to just, you know. Have it over and done with.”

That was irritatingly vague, but Bucky didn’t press it. There didn’t seem any point when Clint remained so frustratingly close-mouthed about pretty much anything.

“Stark has a database with all the intel we’ve retrieved from Hydra over the years,” he said instead. “There might be something about this research group on there.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for,” said Clint. “Otherwise, I guess I’m gonna be going around every Hydra base you haven’t already fucked up, looking for them.”

He was clenching his hands on the steering column, glaring out at the sky as if it had personally insulted him.

“It’s that important to you?” asked Bucky.

“Yep,” said Clint, but didn’t add anything else.

Bucky scowled to himself, turning to stare out of the window. This asshole and his fucking secrets were going to drive him nuts.

“You better take me with you,” he said, rather than ask any more questions he wouldn’t get answers to.

“Sure,” said Clint, aiming a swift grin at him. “I wouldn’t dream of taking down Hydra without you.”

Bucky wanted to believe that was true, but with so many secrets lying between them, he wasn’t sure he could trust Clint not to slip off and do this on his own if he thought it would safeguard whatever it was that he didn’t want to tell Bucky. Saying that felt like it would be a waste of breath though, so Bucky just nodded at Clint and looked back out of the window, watching Europe slide by.

  
  


**** 

  
  


It was pretty late when they got back to the Tower. Bucky was thinking that the others would probably have had dinner without them and they’d have to scavenge for leftovers, but when they got down to the main lounge it was clear that he’d underestimated the consequences of their escapade. The whole team was waiting for them with a variety of frowns and concerned looks.

“Where have you been?” asked Steve, in exactly the same tone Sarah Rogers had used when they came in late.

“We’ve been taking out Hydra, Mom,” said Bucky. “Sorry if we missed curfew.”

“Hydra?” asked Natasha, turning a glare on Clint. “Just the two of you?”

Clint shrugged. “I had some intel I needed to check out, and Bucky said he’d come help.”

“I didn’t think it’d be a big deal,” added Bucky, because they were all still glaring. “The base was barely even manned.” He didn’t feel this was a good time to mention the strike team who’d turned up. Or the flamethrower.

“Next time, leave a message with JARVIS,” said Steve.

“Sure thing,” agreed Bucky, resisting the urge to glance at Clint and roll his eyes. That would probably only wind Steve up more.

“If we’re done with the interrogation,” said Clint, edging towards the elevator.

“Nope,” said Tony, standing up. “Not even close. I’ve got a question. JARVIS, put up that photo, would you?”

A photo appeared on one of the walls of a sulky-looking teenage boy with dark hair and olive skin. He was slumped in a chair and looking off to the left as if he had no idea the photographer was there, putting his bulky beige hearing aid in full view. Behind him, Bucky could see a couple of other kids wearing party hats.

“Who’s this?” asked Tony, looking straight at Clint.

Bucky turned to glance at Clint, who had gone pale. “No idea,” he snapped out.

“Really?” said Tony. “That’s kinda interesting. See, I thought it might be fun to have a photo montage of you for your birthday party, so we could all laugh at your tragic past haircuts and awful fashion choices, but I couldn’t find any photos of you from before SHIELD, and only a handful even from before the Avengers, so I got JARVIS to do a proper search. I mean, what we really want is the awkward teenage years, right? Except, the only photo he could find was this one. Clinton Francis Barton at the Pike County CPS’s Christmas Party, which would be pretty much perfect, except– Notice how he looks nothing like you? Like, at all? I mean, there’s awkward teenage years, and then there’s completely changing your appearance. So, will the real Clint Barton please stand up?”

Clint stared at the photo for a long moment. “Frank,” he said eventually. “He hated being called Clinton, he thought it was a stupid name. He went by Frank.” 

“O-kay,” said Tony, slowly. “Frank, then. You want to tell the class what the hell is going on, then,  _ Clint _ ? Why are there two of you?”

Clint’s fists clenched so tightly that Bucky could see his knuckles go white, and for a moment he thought he was just going to storm out of there without answering, but then he glanced over at Natasha, who had her arms crossed and a faint frown on her face.

“There’s not two of us,” said Clint. “That kid died years ago. He ran away from the foster home when he was fourteen after four years of being bounced around the system because no one wanted the angry deaf kid. Fuck knows what happened to him after that, runaway kids have even harder lives than ones in the system. It was two years later that they fished his body out of Lake Eerie, and the only thing he had on him was a pamphlet for a circus where he hung out for a few months just before he ran away. The cops never even worked out who he was, not that they bothered trying very hard for a street brat.”

“If his body was never properly identified, then he would have been the perfect choice for someone to use for a new identify,” said Natasha, very quietly.

Bucky looked at the photo on the wall again, and then back at Clint. What the fuck? He was using some dead kid’s identity?

More fucking secrets and lies. Was anything about Clint real?

Natasha was still staring at Clint. “You spent some time at a circus.”

Clint gave a half shrug. “Yeah, guess I did,” he said, and he sounded unbelievably tired.

“You don’t have to lie to your team,” said Sam, clearly trying to pull things back under control. Bucky had a feeling it was way too late for that. There was a crackle of tension in the air, a sense of inevitability, as if there was no way they could avoid what was coming. “We won’t hold your past against you.”

“You haven’t got the first clue about my past,” snapped Clint, then he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m resigning as an Avenger, effective immediately.”

“What?” gaped Tony.

“That’s not necessary,” said Steve.

“No,” said Bucky involuntarily, stepping towards Clint. “You can’t.”

“I can,” said Clint. “I am. I was gonna retire in a couple of months anyway, I guess I’ll just go now. Before Tony goes digging through any more stuff that’s been buried for years for good reason.” He stalked out before anyone could stop him, and the rest of the team stared at each other.

“Okay, for the record, I was not expecting that,” said Tony, waving a hand at the photo so that JARVIS would take it down.

“I’ll talk to him,” said Natasha, and followed after Clint.

Bucky didn’t rate her chances. Once Clint had decided on something, he didn’t change his mind. He walked into the lounge and slumped onto a sofa. Fuck.

“He’ll change his mind,” said Sam. “He won’t retire over this.”

Bucky shook his head. “He was talking about it this morning,” he said. “He thinks he’s too old.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” said Tony. “No one who can bend like that is anywhere close to being too old.”

Bucky just shrugged. There was no way Clint had seemed too old while he was fighting today. He’d moved so easily that Bucky had been hard pressed to keep his eyes on his own assailants and not on ogling Clint.

Which reminded him– “Hey, JARVIS,” he said, “you’ve got access to everything we’ve got on Hydra, right?”

“That’s correct,” said JARVIS.

“Can you do a check through for any mention of Research Unit Caesar?” asked Bucky. “Might be in German, Forschungseinheit Caesar. Or another language,” he added, because all he knew for certain was that they weren’t from the Russian division of Hydra.

“Search initialised,” said JARVIS.

“If you find anything, tell me before Clint,” added Bucky. Clint had promised he’d take Bucky on any more trips, but he might not think that held any weight if he wasn’t an Avenger any more.

“Is that who you were off chasing?” asked Sam.

“Were they part of the Winter Soldier program?” asked Steve, with the note in his voice that meant he was contemplating ripping heads off necks.

“No,” said Bucky. “They’ve got something Clint’s been looking for. We didn’t find it today, I figure if we can get more info on it...” 

“He might stick around long enough for us to talk him into staying,” finished Tony. “Good idea.”

Bucky nodded, but he couldn’t help thinking that Clint was more likely to just wait around long enough to get this thing, then leave anyway. He was pretty damn stubborn.

Natasha came back about twenty minutes later. “He’s agreed to stay for his birthday party,” she said, “but he won’t make any promises beyond that.”

“Okay, but is it even his birthday party?” said Tony. “I mean, if he’s been using this kid’s identity, then it’s his birthday, not Clint’s. Should I even be calling him Clint?”

“Clint has spent well over a decade being Clint Barton,” said Natasha. “That’s the identity he’s built for himself. Whoever he was before that doesn’t exist anymore.”

She had a firm note in her voice and a glare in her eye as she looked at Tony that made it clear she wasn’t arguing about this. Tony raised his hands defensively. “Okay, okay, I get it. Just, seems weird to be celebrating his birthday when it’s not real.”

“As if it matters,” said Bucky, and got up and headed for his room.

  
  


**** 

  
  


JARVIS took an hour to come back to him. “I’m afraid the only reference to that unit is in some financial documents from the fifties,” he said. “There’s no indication of where they might be based.”

“Okay,” said Bucky with a sigh. So much for that, then. “Thanks. Can you let Clint know, and tell him that if he wants to go take apart some bases for more information, I’ll make up a list of the most likely?”

“Of course,” said JARVIS.

Bucky stared up at the ceiling. He tried to tell himself that all of Clint’s secrets and obvious unwillingness to tell anyone anything had put a dampener on his feelings for him, but he couldn’t help thinking about the stretch of his arms as he’d fired his bow at those Hydra goons, or the way his face had lit up as they’d shared a laugh over Barney dropping Red Skull’s mask.

Fuck, he was so gone on the guy, how was that fair? Clint was going to just up and leave, and Bucky was going to be left feeling even worse than he did now.

“Agent Barton has asked me to tell you that he’d appreciate that list,” said JARVIS.

At least that would give Bucky something to do that wasn’t pining. “Okay, tell him I’m on it,” he said, making himself sit up and reach for a tablet.

He didn’t see much of Clint over the next couple of days. No one did. Bucky went to the range at their usual time but there was no sign of Clint, and when he asked JARVIS he just got told that Clint had initiated the privacy protocol that meant he didn’t want anyone knowing where he was or what he was doing.

“Okay, fine,” said Bucky. “Tell him I’ve put this list together and he’s only getting it in person, will you?”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes,” said JARVIS.

Clint didn’t reply to that, but he did come by Bucky’s rooms the next day, tapping his knuckles against the door and then hanging in the doorway when Bucky invited him in. “You got that list?” he asked, apparently unwilling to come any further in.

“Sure,” said Bucky, grabbing the USB stick he’d put it on. He held it out to Clint without going over to him, making him come into the room to get it. Just as Clint’s fingers closed around it, he tightened his grip so that Clint couldn’t take it. “Just wanted to remind you that you said you wouldn’t go without me.”

Clint hesitated. Only for a split-second, but it was long enough. Bucky snatched the USB away from him, clenching it in a metal fist where he didn’t have a hope of getting it unless Bucky let him have it.

“I did say that,” agreed Clint, “but things have changed. If I’m leaving the Avengers, then it makes sense for me to just go and hit them all now. Make a tour of it. Cap’s going to need you here, though, you can’t just take a leave of absence to run around Europe taking down Hydra bases.”

“No,” agreed Bucky, “but I have access to quinjets. It’ll be easy enough for me to fly out and join you for each assault. You can’t tell me you’re going to be hitting them all one after another without breaks. There’s no Avengers threats at the moment, no reason for me not to be able to come out.” Clint didn’t look convinced, so Bucky played his trump card. “And you promised,” he added. “Seems like promises mean a lot to you.”

Clint paused for a long moment, and Bucky let him think that through. “Yeah, okay,” he said, reluctantly. “You’re right. My word is good. I won’t hit any bases without giving you the chance to join me.”

Satisfied, Bucky opened his hand and Clint snatched up the USB. “You drive a hard bargain, Barnes,” he said.

Bucky just grinned at him, relaxed now that he’d extracted the promise from him. “Can’t have someone upstaging my reputation as the scourge of Hydra.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Clint, rolling his eyes. “Or maybe you just like watching me fight too much to let it go. I am incredible, you know.”

It was clearly meant as light-hearted banter, and Bucky could have played it off if Clint hadn’t realised what he’d said a split-second later. He didn’t actually wince, but Bucky could see him tense up as he realised just how close to the bone that was.

There was an awkward moment, then Bucky forced himself to shrug as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Well, there are worse sights.”

“You know it,” said Clint, taking a step back towards the door. He held the USB up. “Thanks for this,” he said, then disappeared.

Bucky let out a long, slow breath. This unrequited pining would be so much easier if Clint didn’t know about it. He could only hope he didn’t know just how deep it went.

  
  


**** 

  
  


Given how reclusive Clint had been since they got back from Austria, Bucky was expecting that he’d have to be dragged to the club for his party kicking and screaming, but he was one of the first in the lounge, ready to go.

“Are we pre-gaming?” he was asking Tony as Bucky came out of the elevator.

“Always,” said Tony, heading for the bar. 

Clint was wearing a skintight pair of jeans and a blue shirt with sleeves short enough to highlight his biceps. Bucky had to take a moment to process just how good it made him look.

“Want anything, Seven of Nine?” asked Tony, holding up a bottle.

“What’s the most expensive whisky you’ve got there?” asked Bucky, tearing his eyes away from Clint.

Tony sighed, but reached for another bottle. “Would you even notice if I gave you the cheapest?” he asked, pouring him a drink.

Bucky shrugged. “Once I looked at prices online,” he said, taking the glass. He took a sip. It was good, but he was willing to bet that if he knew how much it cost, he wouldn’t think it was worth it. Still, if Tony was paying… He took a swig, knocking back half the glass in one go. “Pretty good.”

Tony sighed again. “Philistine,” he muttered.

“Hey,” said Clint, leaning on the bar at Bucky’s elbow. “Can I try it?”

Bucky handed the glass to him and he took a sip. “Oh, nice,” he said. “I’ll have one of those,” he said to Tony.

Tony poured another glass. “I can tell this is going to get expensive for me.”

Bucky took his glass back from Clint and had another sip, refusing to let himself think about the fact that Clint’s lips had just touched the same place his now were. He wasn’t going to be that guy.

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to celebrate,” said Clint. “Don’t have a go at me because I’m embracing it.”

“You do seem weirdly upbeat about it, given how much groaning there was when I suggested it,” said Tony, pouring himself a glass and then leaning back against the bar. “And given that we now know this isn’t even your real birthday.”

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s basically my leaving party now, right?”

There was an awkward pause and Bucky met Tony’s eyes, then glanced away when he saw his thoughts being reflected there.

“I guess,” said Tony, eventually. “Hey, when is your actual birthday? You’ve got to be younger than your paperwork says you are, yeah?”

“Bad news,” said Clint. “I’m actually older.”

“Bullshit,” said Tony. “Come on, that’s got to be bullshit. What’s your date of birth?”

Clint just gave him a smug little smile and took another sip of whisky.

Tony sighed. “Fucking spies,” he muttered. It was probably meant to be passed off as a joke, but there was an edge to it that made Bucky think Tony was just as unhappy about how much Clint had been lying to them as Bucky was.

“I don’t see how it matters anyway,” said Clint. “It’s not like I’m going to be here for another party when it rolls around.”

“Don’t be like that, Hawkling,” said Tony, “you’ll be dropping in to see us, and you know you’ll come for the Christmas party. Everyone comes for the Christmas party.  _ Bruce _ comes.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Clint, but Bucky could hear the ‘no’ in his tone. 

From the frown on Tony’s face, so could he. “Seriously? You wouldn’t take advantage of having access to the coolest billionaire’s pad in the country? Hell, in the world, and don’t come at me with Buckingham Palace, I have actual superheroes living here.”

“And they’re very impressive superheroes,” agreed Clint. The elevator pinged open as Sam and Steve arrived and he turned to greet them with a wide grin, effectively ending the conversation.

The mass email Tony had sent to SHIELD meant that the whole of the bar was crammed with SHIELD agents who’d seen the words ‘Avengers party paid for by Tony Stark’ and immediately rearranged their entire lives to be able to make it.

“Wow, I’m way more popular than I thought,” said Clint, looking around. “I hope all these guys have got me a present.”

“How about I show them how it’s done by getting you a drink?” said Sam.

Clint grinned at him and slapped his shoulder. “Thanks man.” He looked around, caught someone’s eye and sent them finger guns. Bucky refused to follow his gaze to find out who, because he was already having enough trouble fighting down jealousy over Sam getting to buy Clint a drink.

Stupid, this whole thing was stupid. Clint wasn’t his to get jealous over.

“Anyone else want a drink?” asked Sam, glancing around the group.

“Just a soda, please,” said Steve.

“Yeah, me too,” said Bucky.

“Oh sure, you’re not going to make him spend a fortune on whisky that won’t even get you drunk,” said Tony, mock-offended.

Bucky shrugged. “He’s not a billionaire,” he said. “Besides, would you really want the Winter Soldier to get drunk?” 

He was pretty sure that, unlike Steve, he could get drunk if he had enough, but that didn’t seem like anything anyone wanted. If alcohol let his inhibitions slip, he was going to end up making a fool of himself in front of Clint somehow.

Tony considered that. “I mean, it’d be a sight, but you could be right,” he said. “I’d love to see Captain America drunk though, I’m so sad I missed my chance to see that. You realise you’re the only living person who knows what Steve Rogers was like when he was plastered, right?”

Bucky grinned, glancing over at Steve, who was trying to look above it all. “This’ll shock you,” he said, “but he was a fighty drunk. Any time he had more than two drinks, we ended up slugging it out with some asshole.”

Tony laughed with delight while Steve let out a long-suffering sigh. “Not  _ always _ ,” he tried, but Bucky wasn’t having that.

“Always,” he repeated. “In the spirit of not having Clint’s party turn into a bar brawl, you better be glad he can’t get drunk anymore.”

“I don’t know, a bar brawl sounds like it might be fun,” said Clint, and he flashed a grin at Steve. “How about I let you know if I decide we should go for it?”

Steve gave him a nod. “I’ll mark out which guys might be good for getting rowdy with us.”

“Oh, I already know exactly which guys here are good for that,” said Clint, tipping Steve a wink. “I’ve had a lot of  _ rowdy _ times with the guys in this room, if you know what I mean.”

Bucky stilled himself so that he wouldn’t react to that, then glanced away as if checking on Sam at the bar to hide his face. Fuck, just what he needed, to be reminded that he was just one on a long list of guys who Clint had fucked before moving on.

Sam came back with the drinks, then most people went off to dance and Bucky found himself a corner to sit in and pretend he wasn’t brooding. 

It was hard to pretend when Clint was having such a good time, dancing with anyone and everyone, laughing in the flashing coloured lights and tossing back drinks. He seemed to be making a point of talking to just about everyone there, meandering around the room from group to group.

It took Bucky a lot longer than it should have to realise that he was saying goodbye to them all.  _ This is basically my leaving party, _ he‘d said, and now he was making a point to talk to everyone here because he didn’t expect to see them again.

Fuck, Bucky didn’t want him to go. He might have Clint’s promise about the Hydra bases, but he wasn’t ever going to fight with him as an Avenger again. They weren’t going to be living together in the tower, training together and sharing meals with the team and randomly running into each other at two in the morning because neither of them could sleep.

He took a deep breath and headed for the bar to get himself something stronger than a soda. He was going to need it.

It was late by the time Clint worked his way back around to Bucky. He slumped down on the seat next to him as if exhausted but his eyes were still bright as he watched the dance floor, and his foot was tapping to the beat. “You know, before we knew you were still alive, Steve always used to talk about how much you’d love to go out dancing.”

Bucky snorted. “Sure,” he agreed. “Tell the DJ to put on something I can Lindy Hop to, and find me a dame who knows the moves, and I’ll be right there.”

Clint turned a devilish grin on him. “I know how to Lindy Hop,” he said, with challenge written all through his voice.

“I’m not dancing with you,” said Bucky, before he could rein it in, snapping the words out too fast and too sharp because he couldn’t let himself think about that. He couldn’t think about dancing with Clint the way he used to dance with all those women that he hadn’t cared to know once they were off the dance floor.

Clint shrugged and looked back at the other dancers. “The offer’s there,” he said. “I bet Tony could find a way to hook the sound system up with something by Glenn Miller or Lucky Millinder.”

“Not sure the rest of the room would appreciate that,” said Bucky. 

“Screw them,” said Clint, dismissively. “Besides, retro kitsch is meant to be in, right? And Steve would be up for it.”

“Steve never liked dancing much,” said Bucky, eyes going over to where Steve was talking to Sam and a couple of SHIELD agents he didn’t recognise. “He used to just hang around watching until he could find an excuse to get in a fight.”

“More fool him,” said Clint. “What’s the point of anything if you don’t get to dance every once in a while?”

He threw back the last of his drink while Bucky was searching for an answer to that which wasn’t a whole-hearted capitulation, because if he ended up dancing with Clint, it would be great for a minute, and then the pain of letting himself get too close would break through. He needed to keep just how in love he was hidden from Clint as much as he could when the guy already knew that Bucky had feelings for him that went beyond wanting to fuck.

“I’m heading to the bar, want anything?” asked Clint.

“No thanks,” said Bucky, and Clint headed off, greeting someone on the way with a back-thumping hug.

They stayed until later than Bucky would have liked, but he wasn’t about to leave early from Clint’s last night as an Avenger. When they all got back to the Tower, Clint paused in the lounge once they’d got out of the elevator and glanced around at the others. “Hey, guys,” he said, then hesitated before adding, “Thanks for tonight. That was great.”

“Enough to make you reconsider your ridiculous attitude towards birthdays?” asked Tony. “Because they are the best, and we will do this again for you next year or, you know, at any other random date that you might feel like giving us as a good one for a birthday, any date at all, just throw it out there.”

Clint was still wearing that bright grin, but Bucky could see a shadow behind it now. “Nah, I think this date works pretty well for me,” he said. He looked around at them all again, then put a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “Okay, that’s me then,” he said. “Good night, guys.”

He headed for his room without glancing back at them, but Bucky could see his shoulders hunching over. He looked at Natasha to see she was watching as well. She met Bucky’s eyes for a moment and pressed her lips together, then slipped off to her own room.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


Clint didn’t bother sleeping after the party. Instead, he packed the handful of stuff he’d be taking with him then spent a couple of hours wandering around his room, looking at all the things that belonged to Clint Barton and that he’d be leaving behind when he became someone else.

He’d loved being Clint so much, why couldn’t they have found that goddamn cauldron so that he could have stayed?

He picked up the mug Natasha had got him for Christmas and ran his finger over the purple H on it. Fuck, he was giving up being Hawkeye as well. 

Usually when he moved on like this he’d already set up his next identity and had a vague plan for where he was headed. Between Tony’s digging forcing his hand and knowing that he might find the cauldron if he just blew up enough Hydra bases, he hadn’t set anything up yet. He had a couple of passports with names on that no one knew about, but he didn’t have anything beyond that. 

If he couldn’t get the cauldron, then whoever he was going to be next would need to be a nobody, and nothing to do with the intelligence community, or the military. Or archery. Being an Avenger had made him far too well-known and if he’d had any sense he’d have dropped off the scene as soon as possible after the Chitauri attack.

But then he wouldn’t have had the last few years, or met Bucky.

Fuck, Bucky. That was a loose end that was going to come back to haunt him, why the hell had he promised to take him along to the Hydra bases? How was he meant to make a clean break with Clint Barton’s life like that? There was no way that the others were going to let him just vanish without looking for him, and giving Bucky an in was only going to make it harder to avoid them.

It was just another problem he’d made for himself because he couldn’t manage to make his head overrule his heart. He could still break his word and disappear as thoroughly on Bucky as he was about to on everyone else, but he already knew he wasn’t going to be able to do that. And not because he hated breaking a promise, although that was probably what he’d tell himself, but because he wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to see Bucky again.

About an hour before dawn, he set the letter he’d written for the team on his bed and hefted his bag over his shoulder. “JARVIS, is the coast clear?”

“Everyone is currently in their quarters,” said JARVIS, which was good enough.

“Okay,” said Clint, then hesitated. “Hey, uh. If the others ask you to try and track me down, can you tell them …” Fuck, what could he say that would make them leave him alone? “I don’t know. Just that this is my choice and I’d like them to respect that, I guess?”

“Very well,” said JARVIS, but he sounded disapproving in the way he must have mastered for when Tony opened yet another project after twenty hours straight in the workshop.

“And, thanks,” added Clint. “For everything.”

Ah crap, he was even going to miss the computer program that ran the building, how did he always get in so deep?

“It was no problem, Agent Barton,” said JARVIS. He paused, and then added, “I realise it’s not in your plans, but I hope to speak to you again.”

Clint managed a wan smile. “Yeah. Maybe,” he said, rather than be honest.

He left his room with his bag over his shoulder and the other envelope he’d got ready in one hand. Bucky’s room was only a few doors down and he hesitated outside it. What was the best way to do this? Stick it to the outside of the door and hope no one else saw it first, or risk opening the door to put it inside, which might wake up Bucky?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door was yanked open and Bucky appeared in the doorway. He took one look at Clint and a black scowl settled on his face.

“You’re leaving,” he hissed.

“Yeah,” said Clint, then glanced down the corridor at the other doors. “Keep it down, will you? I don’t want to deal with everyone else.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, then he grabbed Clint’s wrist and yanked him inside his room, shutting the door behind him.

Bucky was only wearing a pair of boxers so he must have been in bed, but he didn’t look like he’d been sleeping. Clint tried to keep his eyes above his neck, but it was hard when he could remember just how it had felt to be able to touch that body, run his hands over firm muscles and kiss his way over soft skin.

“You’re just sneaking off while everyone’s asleep?”

Clint managed a shrug. “Better than making a fuss. You know they’re all gonna try and get me to stay. This is easier.” Bucky’s frown deepened and it looked like he was going to argue, so Clint forestalled him by pushing the envelope at him. “Here,” he said. “So I can contact you when I’m about to hit a base.”

Bucky took it and tore it open, tipping the cheap burner phone out into his hand.

“You’ve got my actual number,” he said.

Clint shrugged. “I’m leaving my phone here.”

“You don’t want Tony able to track you,” said Bucky. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even beyond the bedhead he’d been rocking. Clint wanted to smooth his fingers over it so badly. “Fuck, Clint, why do you think this is a good idea?”

Clint just shrugged. “It’s complicated,” he said. “I’ve got reasons, good reasons, I promise. Just–”

“You can’t tell me,” finished Bucky. “Of course fucking not.”

Clint didn’t have anything he could say to that, so he just shrugged again. “I’ll be seeing you again, anyway,” he said. “But...don’t bring the team with you, yeah?”

Bucky shook his head, looking exhausted. “If you want to cut and run, that’s on you,” he said. “Just, you’re a fucking asshole, and you’re putting me in the middle of a shitty situation.”

“You put yourself in the middle,” said Clint. “You’re the one that made me promise.”

Bucky just snorted at that, shaking his head. “I’m surrounded by fucking idiots,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, because he couldn’t argue with that. “Look, I gotta go. It’ll probably be a couple of weeks, but I’ll let you know when I’m ready to hit the first base, yeah?”

The look Bucky gave Clint as he nodded just about broke Clint’s heart. It wasn’t even how miserable he looked, it was the resignation as well, as if he just expected things to hurt like this. Clint couldn’t stop himself from making yet another stupid decision and dropping his bag so that he could step in and hug him, holding on tight and wishing that he could find a way to actually say everything he was feeling without fucking things up even more.

Bucky froze for a moment, then hugged Clint back, pressing his face into Clint’s neck and taking a deep breath. “You’re such an asshole,” he said in a cracked voice.

“I know,” said Clint, not letting go. “I’m sorry, okay? This whole thing is shit, and that’s a hundred percent my fault, and I am sorry. I just don’t have a choice.”

“You really do,” said Bucky. “You still do. You can just open up and tell me, us, you can still stay here and let us help with whatever it is.”

Clint made himself pull away. “I would if I could,” he said. “Trust me, I really would. There’s lots of stuff I’d do if I could, places I’d have stayed.” Fuck, he was getting way too emotional. This was exactly why he’d been going to just leave the envelope and run.

He picked up his bag again and took a step away, towards the door. “I’ve got to go,” he said, not meeting Bucky’s eyes, because he couldn’t do this if he kept looking at him. “I’ll be in contact.”

“You better,” said Bucky in a rough voice, and Clint got the fuck out of there before he did something even stupider, like step back into his arms and kiss him.

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t stay, not without giving away all his secrets and breaking the vows he’d made to Rhys and the others, vows he’d made for good reasons, even if it didn’t feel like it right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint went to Wales, although he took the long way there, changing flights in Atlanta, Mexico City and Dubai before finally ending up in Paris and getting the train to London. He changed passport at each stop, hoping like hell that he was doing enough to throw off both Tony Stark and Black Widow.

From London he got a train to Birmingham, then a coach to Manchester, where he found a second hand dealer and bought a car for the final leg into Wales. He drove until he hit the edge of Snowdonia National Park, then pulled over at a viewpoint and just curled over to rest his forehead on the steering wheel. Fuck, what was he doing? Was he really just blindly heading for where home should be because he didn’t have a clue what else to do?

Except home hadn’t been there for centuries, and now he was just a stranger in a landscape that had once been so familiar and now was covered over with the signs of modernity.

The last time he’d actually lived in Wales had been after the Great War, when he’d needed somewhere to hide away and lick his emotional wounds after all the horror he’d seen in France. He’d found a farm where they’d needed an extra hand and lived there for the best part of a decade, letting the quiet and the routine wash over him until he’d stopped flinching at loud noises. 

Maybe that was the kind of life he needed to find for himself again, after being an Avenger. Not in Wales though, and not until after he’d gone through every Hydra base in Europe looking for the cauldron. What he needed right now was a place to stay for a couple of weeks while he got himself ready for a trek around Europe without the Avengers catching up with him.

Fuck it. He pulled out the burner phone he’d got at the same time as the one he’d given Bucky and hit dial on one of the six numbers he’d programmed into it.

“Hello, this is Gareth,” said Thomas’s voice.

“<Hey, it’s Gwion. I seem to be in your area,>” said Clint. “<Any chance I can come and crash for the night?>”

Thomas was silent for a moment, then let out a long sigh. “<Promise you’re not bringing anything from your day job with you.>”

Clint laughed, but even he could hear the edge of desperation to it. “<I quit. Time for a new job.>”

“<Ah,>” said Thomas, in an understanding way. “<Come by, then. I’ll have a drink waiting.>”

He hung up and Clint dumped the phone on the passenger seat of the car, then started the engine. It couldn’t be more than an hour to Porthmadog from here, which gave him an hour to try and come up with a plan for what he’d do tomorrow morning.

When he got to Thomas’s house, it was just starting to get dark. Thomas had a small cottage that looked out over the harbour, and Clint could see the sun setting down over the sea to the west as he pulled up. He pulled a hat on before he got out the car, just in case there was someone nearby who knew exactly what the least impressive Avenger looked like. The least impressive ex-Avenger.

Thomas opened the door with a glass in his hand, but set it down to give Clint a back-thumping hug. “<Leaving a life is hard,>” he said as he gestured Clint in, then shut the door behind him.

“<Yeah,>” agreed Clint. He felt exhausted now that all his travelling was done. He allowed Thomas to guide him through to the sitting room with an arm around his shoulders.

“<You need a drink,>” said Thomas as Clint slumped down into a chair. Clint nodded, but Thomas had already disappeared.

The room was small and filled with bookcases, which was exactly what Clint had always pictured for Thomas’s home. There was no television, but a large armchair was drawn up so that Thomas could look out of the front window at the bay.

When Thomas came back, he turned it so that he was facing Clint’s chair and settled down.

“<Do you want to talk about it?>” he asked.

Clint just shook his head. “<If I wanted to talk, I’d be in Spain.>” Griff was the person you went to if you wanted an understanding ear and some good advice. Thomas was where you went if you just wanted the booze to flow until you couldn’t remember why you were sad in the first place.

“<Then we’ll just drink,>” said Thomas, and held out his bottle to Clint so that he could tap his against it. “Iechyd da!”

Clint repeated the toast and took a long swallow, settling back into the chair with a sigh. At least he had somewhere to go when he walked out on everything. He remembered Rhys saying that he was looking for a family and wondered how he hadn’t noticed that they all already had one.

The problem was, he thought, as Thomas started talking about his latest poetry anthology, that like a lot of real families, they couldn’t stand to be around each other for more than a day or two. What Clint was looking for was a sense of belonging that didn’t come with a detailed description of how trochaic tetrameter could express the unnatural feeling of modern life, or whatever it was Thomas was yabbering about.

They drank together until Thomas had reached the stage of reciting whole sections of the old poetry with a tear in his eye, which meant he was about half a glass away from telling Clint the story of how he met his wife for the thousandth time.

Thomas had spent the first few centuries after they’d been cursed tracking his descendents. First in his head, then, after Ifor had been persuaded to teach the rest of them to write, on scraps of parchment that grew larger and larger.

It was after they’d agreed to split up and keep the lives they were living separate, but before they’d set up the regular ten yearly meeting in Haverfordwest. Clint had been in the army of a lord in Northumbria, taking part in border skirmishes, but there had begun to be whispers about his unnaturally good luck in battle and how young he looked for his age. He’d waited until he was in a patrol that got attacked, then ducked out in the middle of battle, hoping everyone would assume he’d been killed.

He’d tried to tell himself that he’d known this was coming and he was fine with leaving his comrades behind, but the truth was that, as usual, he had let himself grow entirely too close to the other men in his unit. Before he’d found somewhere to start his new life, he’d gone to visit the people he knew he’d never need to fake his death for, in a vain attempt to make it feel like he had a family outside of the men he’d fought beside for the last decade.

Ifor had taken holy vows and was copying manuscripts in a monastery, where he made it very clear that he was enjoying the quiet, so Clint only stayed for a few hours before going on to Rhys, who was working on a farm near Chester. The few days Clint spent there made it clear that Rhys wasn’t cut out for the agricultural life and Clint left thinking that it wouldn’t be long before Rhys headed off to find himself a new identity as well.

Thomas was living in a village that Clint took a couple of tries to locate, but once he got there, Thomas was easy to find. He was collapsed in a heap against the outside wall of the tiny pub on the main street, snoring loudly and reeking of ale.

Clint crouched down by him and tried to shake him awake, without any luck. He’d glanced around to find a couple of men watching him from the pub doorway. “<How long’s he’s been like this?>” he asked, enjoying the feeling of the old language on his tongue after a few years speaking English.

“<A couple of hours,>” said one of them with a shrug.

The other one snorted. “<More like a couple of years.>”

Clint sighed. “<Where’s he living?>”

They nodded over to a wooden hut that was starting to slump to one side at the end of the street. Clint looked at the distance between the pub and there, then back at Thomas’s large frame. Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

“<Wake up, idiot,>” he called, shaking Thomas’s shoulder again.

Thomas managed a grumble and cracked open an eyelid, then snorted and muttered something rude about Clint’s mother before going back to sleep.

Clint sighed and looked back at the men. “<Any chance of a hand?>”

There was a long moment during which he was left wondering if he was going to have to scrape together some coins to bribe them, then one of them nudged the other and they straightened up to come over.

“<You’re wasting your time,>” said one of them, as they all took a grip on Thomas and hefted him up. “<He’ll be right back here tomorrow night, once he’s drunk enough for Morfan to throw him out.>”

How the hell had Thomas got into this state without Rhys turning up to glower at him and make pointed comments about the devil tempting men to sin through the evils of alcohol?

“<Maybe I’ll persuade him to take a day off,>” said Clint.

The men were pretty sceptical about that, but they helped him carry Thomas inside his house and dump him on the bed. Thomas stayed fast asleep for the entire procedure.

He remained asleep for another few hours while Clint did his best to tidy up the hut around him, then gave up when he realised just how neglected everything was.

When Thomas finally woke up, it was with a pained groan. He blinked open gummy eyes and Clint gave him his very best ‘I disapprove of everything happening right now’ look, which he’d first learnt from his mother but perfected by imitating Rhys.

Thomas groaned again, sitting up and rubbing at his head. “Gwion,” he said with a sigh when he saw Clint. “<You can at least get me some water if you’re going to look at me like that.>”

Clint passed him a cup that Thomas gratefully sipped.

“<Are you going to tell me what’s going on?>” asked Clint, once Thomas was well enough to twitch his eyes towards the stack of empty flagons in the corner, clearly hoping some of them were still full. They weren’t; Clint had made sure of that.

Thomas gave a shrug and slumped back against the wall. “<I’m continuing to exist,>” he said, bitterly. “<Just going on and on and on and on and on and–>”

“<We’re all doing that,>” interrupted Clint, when it became clear Thomas was still drunk enough to just keep going until someone stopped him.

Thomas shrugged, spilling water on his shirt. Clint left a pause, hoping he would fill it, and was rewarded by a heartfelt sigh. “<I lost track,>” said Thomas as if confessing the murder of a child to a priest, emotion breaking his voice.

“<Of what?>” asked Clint, as gently as he could.

“<Of them,>” said Thomas, waving a wild arm at a pile in the corner that Clint had taken for rags. He leaned over to look through it and realised it was scraps of parchment, most of it old and mouldering, and all of it covered with names. 

He glanced back at Thomas. “<Your family?>”

Thomas snorted. “<My  _ descendants _ ,>” he said. “<The sons of my sons of my sons of my sons of my sons of my->”

He was getting stuck again, so Clint interrupted, shuffling through the stack. “<I can’t believe how many there are.>”

“<Hundreds,>” said Thomas. “<More, maybe, who knows? Certainly not me. I was doing so well, I had them all, I was keeping track, and then there were just too many, all moving and travelling, and marrying and having more children, and I just lost track.>”

Clint set the papers back in place. It was hard to get his head around just how many years had slipped him by while he’d tried not to think too hard about any of it, just living from one life to the next without looking too far ahead, or too far back. In that time, all these people had grown to adulthood, had their own children and passed on. Lived normal lives, while Clint and Thomas and the rest of them were stuck, watching it all happen around them.

No wonder Thomas had been drunk for a few years. Clint was beginning to wish he’d kept some ale back when he’d emptied the flagons out.

“<And the worst thing,>” said Thomas, sitting forward, “<the very worst thing, is that I don’t recognise any of them any more. None of them have Angharad’s smile, or the exact shade of her eyes, or the way my Owain’s laugh spilled out, or the set of Little Tom’s chin when he was determined to get his way. There’s none of them left.>” He started crying, sobs cracking his voice as tears streamed down his face.

Aw man, Clint was going to end up crying too.

He and Llewelyn had kept track of their nephews and nieces after they’d been forced to abandon their lives, but when it had reached the stage of great-nephews and -nieces, Clint had stopped paying attention. If he went back to the farming community where he’d grown up, he’d have no idea which of the people living there carried his family’s blood now. He glanced again at the stack of parchment and thought that it might well turn out to be all of them.

“<I just want to be with my family,>” said Thomas, very quietly, curling over with despair. “<I just want to be with them, Gwion.>”

“<You will be,>” said Clint. “<One day, you will be. We’ll find the cauldron and end this, I promise, Thomas.>”

But that had been well over a thousand years ago, and they had never come close. Not until the dusty box in that storage room, anyway. Over the years, Clint had seen Thomas drunk and maudlin over his family hundreds of times, but his despair had never seemed to lessen, even if he had got better at hiding it when he wasn’t drunk and with people he could be honest with.

Clint didn’t want to hear it again now, not when he was wrestling with his own despair at having to leave people behind.

“<It’s been a long trip here,>” he said, derailing Thomas before it could get that far. “<Do you have a spare bed or is it the sofa?>”

Thomas stood up. “<Sofa bed in my study, let me go and set it up.>”

Clint downed his drink and took all the empty bottles through to the kitchen. He paused by the sink after he’d rinsed them out and couldn’t stop his fingers going for the phone in his pocket. He skimmed through the contacts and hovered over the number of Bucky’s burner. He could text him now, just asking how the others were taking his departure. Was Natasha as mad as Clint guessed, or was she just resigned? Was Tony scouring the earth for him, or had Clint’s note managed to convince them that he didn’t want to be found so there was no sense in looking? Had Cap started thinking about replacements?

He got as far as typing Bucky’s name into a message, then he deleted it and snapped the phone shut. Nope, he needed a clean break. Well, as clean as he could get with his promise to Bucky hanging over his head. It was the only way to move on, and he knew that, he did. He’d done it often enough before, after all.

Fuck, he was going to miss them all so much, though.

  
  


**** 

  
  


The next morning, Thomas used Clint’s visit as an excuse for a fry-up, which Clint respected as a life choice. Besides, it wasn’t as if they needed to worry about their cholesterol.

“<What’s your plan?>” asked Thomas as they tucked in. “<Do you have an identity set up?>”

“<I’ve got a couple I could use. I need to find somewhere quiet where I won’t be recognised, without too much video surveillance in case someone runs a global facial recognition trace.>”

That someone would be Tony, of course. He was the only one who could hack into every camera worldwide. Clint was hoping he’d respect Clint’s wish to be left alone, but he couldn’t count on it.

Thomas frowned. “<Haven’t you made any plans at all?>”

Usually, Clint had a new life in place for a few months before he walked away from the old one, or at least an idea of where he wanted to end up. After he’d left San Francisco in the early ‘80s, he’d travelled around the country for most of a year in an old campervan, but he’d known he was looking for a circus to take him in. When he found Carson’s, he stepped straight into the persona of Buck Chisholm, who he’d started laying a paper trail for a few years before that.

“<I had to leave earlier than I was planning,>” said Clint. “<People started commenting on how young I look for my age.>” He gave Thomas a wilted smile that Thomas returned with a grimace. They’d both heard that too often through the years, and it always signalled that it was time to walk away from the life they’d created for themselves.

“<Besides,>” he added, “<I’ve got a few months of knocking over Hydra bases to go before I settle anywhere.>”

“<Hydra bases?>” said Thomas. “<That doesn’t sound like it’s going to keep you off the Avengers’ radar.>”

“<Didn’t Llyw tell you?>” asked Clint. “<He found a trace on the cauldron.>”

Thomas’s whole body straightened as he stared at Clint. “<What?!>”

“<The Nazis picked it up somewhere, and Hydra took it from them at the end of the War. We found the base where they’d had it, but some other Hydra unit had already taken it. We’re trying to figure out where to. I’ve got a list of places to try.>”

Thomas was staring at him. “<Holy shit,>” he said, quietly. “<Fuck. Gwion, please tell me you’re not kidding.>”

Clint shook his head. “<Nope. I swear, there was an indent of the fucking thing in the papers that were under it in the box and everything.>”

Thomas let out a very long, slow sigh. “<Then this thing could finally be over soon.>”

Clint nodded. Thomas let out another long sigh, then dropped his elbows onto the table and his head into his hands. “<Oh god, please let it be over soon,>” he said, desperation turning his last word into a sob.

Clint reached out and set his hand on his head, sinking his fingers into his curls. “<I’m going to go to every single fucking Hydra base I can find,>” he said. “<If it’s still with them, I’ll find it.>”

Thomas drew in a deep breath, then sat back up, blinking the emotion away. “<If you need any back-up, let me know. I can still wield an axe.>”

“<Not sure an axe will do you much good against a Hydra squad,>” said Clint. “<I’m good, anyway. Hydra have had a bad few years, and anyway, Bucky’s going to come out and meet me for each assault.>”

Clint was all too familiar with the  _ what the fuck are you doing? _ look that Thomas gave him. “<Bucky? Bucky Barnes? The Avenger? The Avengers you’ve just walked away from and shouldn’t be having any contact with if you want to be able to set up a new life?>”

Clint just shrugged. “<I promised.>”

Thomas let out a groan. “<Just because your brother doesn’t keep any of his promises doesn’t mean you have to keep every single one of yours.>”

Clint thought it kinda did, actually. Someone had to try and balance Llywelyn out. Besides, a man was only as good as his word. He didn’t bother saying any of that though, in favour of just shrugging again. “<He’s got more experience with Hydra than anyone else around who isn’t irredeemably evil,>” he said. “<Seems like a good idea to keep him on side, in case I need him for something further down the line.>”

“<Right>,” said Thomas, with more skepticism than Clint thought was warranted. “<It’s not at all that you’re having trouble letting go.>”

Of course Clint was having trouble letting go. That was so obvious that Clint just rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his fried bread.

“<You should tell the others,>” said Thomas, after a few minutes. “<You know Llyw won’t.>”

Clint sighed, but gave in. “<Yeah, I know. I’ll text them after breakfast.>”

Thomas nodded, finally satisfied, and carried on eating his breakfast.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


_ I’ll be doing recon on the Edinburgh base tomorrow afternoon, with the intention to hit it that night. _

Bucky felt the phone vibrate as soon as the text came in and pulled it out of his pocket, turning away while Steve was mid-sentence to check it. It had been a long three weeks, waiting for Clint to contact him, and more than once he’d told himself that he was an idiot and the phone was just a decoy that Clint had no intention of using.

His heart leapt as he saw the message and he tapped out a response without thinking.

_ I’ll be there. _

“...and that’s why you’re going to be sharing a room with Tony from now on,” finished Steve. “We’re thinking the cleaning closet. You can sleep standing up, right?”

Bucky rolled his eyes at him, tucking the phone back away. “I was listening, punk,” he said. “You’re planning some big training op.”

Steve had crossed his arms. “Who were you texting?”

Bucky hesitated. He hadn’t told anyone that Clint had given him a means of communication, and he definitely hadn’t told them that he knew where Clint was going to be at some point. He was pretty sure that if they knew, they’d all insist on coming along, which was only going to make Clint run and hide again, this time without the promise that he’d contact Bucky.

“Just a guy,” he said, eventually. He hated lying to Steve, but he couldn’t risk losing Clint entirely. The only way they had a chance of getting him back was to take the softly, softly approach, to try and figure out just why he was so set on vanishing so that they could fix whatever had given him that exhausted, haunted look. And yeah, okay, he knew what a slim fucking chance that was, but it was all he had. 

A slow smile spread over Steve’s face. “A guy,” he repeated. “A guy you’re so excited about that you texted him back that quickly?”

Bucky just shrugged. 

“You gonna be seeing him?” asked Steve, his grin turning into a smirk.

“Maybe,” said Bucky, slowly, seeing a way to head off to meet Clint whenever he needed to without causing the others to ask too many questions, but hating it. You weren’t meant to lie to your team but, fuck it, what else was he supposed to do? “Might have plans to see him tomorrow.”

“I’ll schedule the training for the day after, then,” said Steve.

Bucky shook his head. “Pretty sure we’re gonna be up all night, then I should probably stay for breakfast. The day after?”

Fuck, he hoped Clint let him hang around long enough to eat a meal with him. Bucky had missed him even more than he’d expected to.

Steve’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Wouldn’t want you at anything less than your best, I guess.”

Bucky found a smirk for him, as if he really was intending to spend the night having sex rather than taking out a Hydra base, then turned to get the fuck out of there before Steve could ask any other questions.

“And, Bucky?” asked Steve, just before Bucky made it out of the door. He glanced back to see Steve giving him an expression that said this was going to get a bit emotional. He braced himself. “I’m really pleased for you. I’m glad you’ve found someone after… after everything. I know it’s been a tough few months, I’m hoping this goes well for you.”

Bucky managed a smile and then booked it as fast as he could. Fuck, now he really felt like an asshole, particularly as he had apparently been a lot less subtle about pining after Clint than he’d thought he had.

  
  


**** 

  
  


The Hydra base wasn’t in Edinburgh itself, it was a few miles to the south. Bucky found a quiet place to land the quinjet, far enough out to hopefully go unnoticed, then sent Clint a text as he walked the last bit. 

_ Where am I meeting you? _

_ There’s a cafe down the road from the base, lunch? _

Bucky couldn’t help smiling at that, because it meant Clint wasn’t going to try and keep this strictly professional.

When he got to the cafe, he almost didn’t recognise Clint. He’d dyed his hair dark and grown a beard, and was wearing a pair of square, black-rimmed glasses, a plaid shirt and skinny jeans. There was a tiny, useless scarf draped around his neck.

Bucky sat down opposite him and just stared. “You look like a fucking idiot.”

Clint glanced down at himself, then back at Bucky. “You think I should have gone with suspenders and a bowtie?”

“Fuck no,” said Bucky.

“You’re pretty sweary today,” said Clint, cheerfully. He threw one end of his scarf over his shoulder.

“I’ve spent three weeks listening to the others worrying about you while keeping my mouth shut,” said Bucky. “Damn right I’m sweary.”

Clint winced. “Man, I was hoping they’d just let it go.”

“You’re kidding,” said Bucky, then stared in disbelief as Clint just shrugged. “Seriously, you thought they’d just let you go? You thought Nat would just let her best friend disappear and not do anything about it? That Tony  _ freaking _ Stark would let a mystery go without trying to solve it? That Steve would let one of his team wander off without needing to know they’re okay?” Clint just shrugged again. “You’re a fucking idiot,” concluded Bucky.

Clint let out a long breath, staring down at the plastic-coated menu. “Okay, maybe I  _ hoped _ they’d let it go,” he amended. “I did leave a note.”

Clint’s note had been brief and to the point.

_ Hey guys, sorry to just nip off like this, but I hate goodbyes. Last night felt like enough of one. I hope you all know that I’ve treasured my time with you guys, but I need to move on. Please respect my wishes and don’t try and track me down. It’s going to be easier if it’s just a clean break. _

_ I wish you all the best, _

_ Clint _

When they’d read it, Bucky had thought Natasha was going to explode. Instead, she’d glared at the paper hard enough to set it on fire, then stalked out of the room, down to the gym. Tony had immediately started to ask JARVIS to start a search for Clint, but Steve had stopped him.

“If he doesn’t want us to follow him, we have to respect that,” he’d said, then gone off to brood in his room.

Bucky looked at Clint now and thought about telling him about that, about how Natasha had trained in the gym for hours, or how Tony had spent days locked in his workshop, or the way Steve kept staring into space with a little frown on his face.

“You’re a complete idiot,” he said instead.

“Yeah, probably,” muttered Clint.

They were interrupted by the waitress taking their order, which gave Bucky time to take a few breaths and shove down his anger at the way Clint had dealt with this. It wasn’t his place to tell the guy what to do, or insist that there was no good reason for him to want to disappear so thoroughly from his friends’ lives.

“So, you gonna tell me what you’ve been up to, or is that all hush-hush?” he asked once she was gone.

Clint shrugged. “Mainly I’ve been growing a beard,” he said, stroking a hand over it. “What do you think?”

“I think it would look better without the stupid scarf,” said Bucky, because he couldn’t say that he prefered being able to see the line of Clint’s jaw but that he’d want to feel the beard against his skin before he could properly judge it.

Clint snorted. “I shoulda figured you wouldn’t be a fan of the hipster look.”

“You look like you just shut your eyes and picked clothes out of your wardrobe at random,” said Bucky. “What happened to all your purple t-shirts?”

Clint shrugged. “All still at the Tower. You can have them if you want.”

As a sign that Clint was never intending to go back, that was pretty clear. Bucky felt his jaw clench as he fought against all the things he wanted to say, but he settled for just shaking his head. “Not sure purple’s my colour.”

“Purple is everyone’s colour,” said Clint. “It’s the best.”

Bucky didn’t think he was ever going to see purple again without thinking of Clint, but that was yet another thing he couldn’t say right now.

By the time they’d eaten, there was a long list of things Bucky was keeping his lip buttoned on and it felt like he was going to grind his teeth down in an effort to keep them unspoken.

Clint pulled on a knitted hat as they left the cafe, which managed to make him look even more like an idiot. Bucky just stared, then looked away when Clint raised a challenging eyebrow at him.

“What’s the plan?” he asked instead.

“Recon,” said Clint. “Have a sniff around and see how busy the place is.”

“I remember it being more of a training base,” said Bucky. “Don’t know that there’ll be all that much there now, not with the setbacks they’ve been having.”

Clint laughed. “Setbacks. You mean, like having the Winter Soldier and the Avengers fucking their shit up every time they turn around?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” agreed Bucky with a grin, because thinking about how much of Hydra they’d managed to destroy over the last couple of years was basically his happy place.

The base was a big office building with a battered sign outside saying  _ Serpent Management Training Facilities _ and a look that said it had seen better days.

“Serpent,” muttered Clint, rolling his eyes. “Who the fuck are they kidding?”

“They like to pretend that they're hiding in plain sight,” said Bucky as they walked past it without showing too much attention. They turned around the next corner then doubled around to the back of one of the buildings opposite it, climbing up onto the roof and finding a perch to watch from for a while.

Clint pulled a set of binoculars out of the leather messenger bag Bucky had carefully not been mentioning.

“I can’t see any movement,” he said, running his gaze over the windows. “Oh, hang on, no. There’s someone on the second floor, last window but one.”

Bucky took a look, but all he could see was vague movement behind the windows.

“Looks like they’re having some kind of meeting,” said Clint. “There’s a Powerpoint presentation, but I can’t read it. What kind of Powerpoint would Hydra have?”

“There’s a lot of indoctrination involved in persuading guys to become terrorists,” said Bucky. “They can’t brainwash all of their minions.” Clint passed the binoculars to him and he had a look, but he couldn’t see more than Clint had. He looked over the other windows and caught sight of a guy on the top floor working at a computer.

“I hate to ask,” said Clint as Bucky handed the binoculars back, “but you’re sure this is the place, right? Just, I don’t want to be that Avenger that fucks up a corporate training company for no reason.”

“This is it,” said Bucky. It all looked perfectly ordinary on the surface, but he was getting that itch down his spine that signalled Hydra. He scanned back over the building, trying to put his finger on just exactly what about it was screaming ‘terrorist organisation’ to him. “Besides,” he added, “I thought you weren’t an Avenger any more.”

There was a long pause, then Clint let out a sigh. “Yeah okay, that’s true. Force of habit.”

“There,” said Bucky, jabbing a finger at the building. “On the roof. There’s a sniper behind the fire escape.”

Clint raised his binoculars to focus on the man on the roof. “He looks like he’s just having a sneaky smoke break,” he said, then the guy turned slightly. “Oh wait, he’s got a gun. Yeah, okay, definitely Hydra.” He lowered the binoculars. “That seems to be their only guard though, and the building’s not very secure.”

“Guess that means this’ll be easy, then,” said Bucky, which was a bit of a disappointment. He liked it when Hydra tried to put up a fight, so that he could tear them into tiny pieces.

  
  


**** 

  
  


It was exactly that easy. They went in through the roof, sliding across on a line from a neighbouring building and taking out the guard hunched in a corner and half-asleep before he even knew they were there. Clint picked the lock of the roof door and they made their way downstairs.

Bucky hadn’t been in this particular facility, but Hydra tended to use the same lay-out over and over again, so he was able to find the main records office, where they stripped everything they could off the computers, and then the secret entrance to the ‘top secret’ records office, which turned out to be filing cabinets rather than servers.

Clint let out a sigh. “Is it too much to ask that they make this easy for us?”

Bucky pulled open the first cabinet and started rifling through the files, looking for anything that might mention other Hydra units. “Apparently these guys are still stuck in the past.”

Clint started going through another cabinet, pulling out a file to glance at and then throwing it to one side. “This is all decades old,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. “I don’t think this place is being used much anymore.”

“It’s almost like they have a recruitment problem because they keep ending up on the news being blown up by the good guys,” said Clint.

“Almost,” agreed Bucky, checking another file and finding nothing.

They left out the front door, taking out another couple of guards in the lobby who hadn’t expected an attack to come from behind. All in all, the whole thing was pretty much an anticlimax, especially when they got back to the hotel room Clint was staying in, where he plugged the flash drive of stuff they’d taken off the computers into his laptop.

“Nothing on here either,” he said. “Fuck.” He shoved the laptop to one side and ran his hands over his face, pushing off the black stocking hat he’d been wearing.

“Plenty of other Hydra bases to go through yet,” said Bucky, with a surge of satisfaction at the idea that he was going to get to join Clint to take them out. An instant later, he felt like an asshole because he shouldn’t be hoping for mission failure just because once Clint had this cauldron thing back, he was likely to disappear from Bucky’s life as thoroughly as he’d disappeared from everyone else’s.

“Yeah, I know,” said Clint, but he sounded defeated and he collapsed backwards to lie on the bed. “And it’s never in the first place you look,” he added. “I just want to find this fucking thing so it’s done with.”

“You mean, so you can retire properly,” said Bucky, and then wanted to kick himself, because he hadn’t managed to hide how he felt about that idea at all.

Clint snorted. “Kinda the opposite, actually. If I can find this cauldron, I’d be able to go back to the team.”

Bucky stared at him. “What?” he managed. “What the hell? How does that work?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Clint, and Bucky couldn’t hold in his frustration at that, although he did keep his reaction to a growl, rather than let loose any of the flood of words that were building up in his chest.

Clint sat back up. “I know, I know, you’re sick of hearing that,” he said. “Just. If I find it, I can come home, be part of the team.” He hesitated, then added, “Stop keeping secrets, pretty much.”

Bucky stared at him. “You’re fucking shitting me,” he said. “How does…” He shook his head in frustration, not bothering to finish the question because he knew Clint wasn’t going to answer it. “Nothing about this makes sense.”

Clint laughed, and it had an achingly tired edge to it. “You really don’t have to tell me that,” he said. “Look, the short story– No, okay, the story I can tell you is that I made a bunch of promises, a long time ago, and they’re all linked together. One of them is to get the cauldron back, and once that’s done, I’m free of the rest of them.” He let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll be free to live the rest of my life however the fuck I want to.”

“Okay,” said Bucky, forcing himself to accept that without asking any more questions. If that was the case, then there was only one way forward. “Okay, then we’ll get this fucking thing. We’ll find this research unit, get the cauldron, and you can come back home. And then maybe Natasha will stop stabbing things, and Tony can stop pretending he’s not running global searches for you, and Steve can stop… being Steve about the whole thing.”

Clint winced. “It’s not been that bad, surely?”

“It’s been worse,” said Bucky. “That first morning, and that shitty note you left instead of saying goodbye like an adult–”

“It wasn’t that shitty,” muttered Clint. Bucky just glared at him.

“It was exactly that shitty,” he said. “And I was the only one who actually saw you before you went. The one who’s having to lie to his team,” he added, pointedly.

Clint winced. “Yeah, I’m putting you in a horrible position,” he acknowledged. “Sorry.”

Bucky shook his head, picking the laptop up and glancing at the useless data they’d gathered. “If it ends with you able to come back, it’ll be worth it.”

“I am so ready for this to be over,” agreed Clint. He took the laptop from Bucky and pulled out the flash drive. “You want to take this back, add it in with the rest of the Hydra data JARVIS has?”

Bucky nodded and took it, fingers grazing over Clint’s because apparently he was a goddamn cliché of unrequited love. “Let me know where you’re going to hit next.”

Clint nodded. “Probably Rouen. Or Antwerp. I’ll text you.”

“Okay,” said Bucky, and then he didn't have any other excuse to stay.

  
  


**** 

  
  


Two weeks later, Bucky fed Steve another lie about his fictional boyfriend and flew over to Rouen to find that Clint had ditched the hipster look in favour of a battered Byron Bay Surfing t-shirt and an Australian accent. With a bead necklace on, he actually looked young enough to be backpacking around Europe after college. Bucky wasn’t sure how he’d managed that when he claimed to be born before 1971.

He still had the beard, though.

“Are you keeping that?” asked Bucky.

Clint ran a hand over it. “Yep,” he said. “Helps with facial trackers, right? Besides, I make it look good.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together to stop himself from agreeing. The beard was definitely growing on him.

Rouen was another storage facility, holding mostly old weaponry. There was a unit of troops guarding it, but they didn’t last long against Bucky and Clint fighting together. Even if Clint had pulled out a gun rather than a bow.

Bucky looked at him once they’d wiped the Hydra unit out. “Where did your bow go?”

Clint shrugged. “Left it with a friend.”

“A friend,” repeated Bucky. “I thought you’d just left all your friends behind in order to grow a beard and dress like a hobo.”

“Not all of them,” said Clint.

Bucky waited for more information, but none was forthcoming. He clenched his jaw but didn’t keep pushing it. “Okay, fine,” he said, looking at the bodies lying around them. “Shall we get to the mainframe?”

“Aw, don’t make that face,” said Clint, tucking his gun away. “Look, I couldn’t exactly go around filling Hydra full of arrows without alerting the entire intelligence community to exactly where Hawkeye is. It made sense to stash it, and I happened to be at his place.”

“I wasn’t making a face,” said Bucky, which just earned him a raised eyebrow. He ignored it. “The records room is this way.”

He had been to this base before, decades ago, to be outfitted. It didn’t look like much had changed since then, although the computer system was a bit more up-to-date and, to Bucky’s huge relief, there weren’t any paper files.

“You know,” said Clint, sitting down at the computer and pulling out a flash drive, “this would be easier if Hydra just had some logical, cross-organisational archiving system.”

“Which is probably why they don’t,” said Bucky, hovering by the door to keep watch, even though he was pretty sure that there was nothing but rats left alive in the rest of the base. “If they had everything in the cloud, or whatever, it would take Tony about thirty seconds to get in and have access to it all.”

“Just because that’s a good point doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed about it,” said Clint as the computer gave a little beep. “Okay, files downloaded. Let’s get out of here and see if there was any point to this.”

“There’s always a point to beating up Hydra,” said Bucky.

Clint shot finger guns at him. “Another very good point. You are on a roll today.” He pulled out the flash drive and stood up, getting his gun out for their exit from the base. “I do love a guy who’s smart and sexy,” he added.

It was pretty clear from the tone of his voice that he was just letting his mouth run while he was distracted by concentrating on how to get out and back to wherever he was staying without attracting the wrong kind of attention, but that didn’t stop Bucky from freezing up. Fuck, that wasn’t fair, not when he wanted to hear Clint say that he loved him for real so badly and was never going to get it.

Clint clearly realised his mistake because his head whipped up and he gave Bucky a grimace of apology. Bucky felt his stomach twist and realised the last thing he wanted was to hear Clint actually mention the elephant in the room. They’d been doing so well at pretending there was nothing but friendship and revenge motivating Bucky to come along on these trips. He didn’t want to ruin it now.

“Let’s go,” he gritted out, and darted back into the corridor before Clint could say anything. 

Clint kept his mouth shut as they got out of the base, then lead them back to where he was staying, which turned out to be a hostel. Bucky couldn’t keep his thoughts from showing on his face as they paused in an alley across from it.

“Yeah, I know,” said Clint, “but it fits my cover.” He looked Bucky over and made a face. “Which you really don’t.”

Bucky glanced down at his black combat gear, which he’d thrown a hoodie over to disguise, and then at the handful of guests in the smoking area at front of the hostel. He was going to stand out like a sore thumb, which was going to make Clint stand out, which was the last thing he needed while he was trying to keep off everyone’s radar.

“I’m not going without finding out if we got anything,” he said. If they’d got info on Research Unit Caesar’s whereabouts, he’d want to go there right now so they could get this stupid cauldron, and then Clint could come home. “You could come to where I’ve hidden the quinjet and we could look there?”

Clint shook his head. “No, no way I’m going anywhere near any tech Tony’s had his hands on. My cover really will be blown if Iron Man turns up to yell at me for making Captain America sad.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest that, then shut it again when he realised that was likely to be exactly what would happen if Tony had set the quinjet systems to monitor for Clint’s presence. “Guess I’ll just have to sneak in then,” he said. “You’ve got a private room, right?”

“Oh yeah,” said Clint. “I’m not so deep in the role that I’m going to sleep in a dormitory, that would be a shit idea for everyone.” He glanced back over at the hostel, then shook his head. “Okay, all right, I guess, look drunk. Half the people wandering in and out at this time of night are wasted.”

Bucky nodded and shook out his limbs, trying to look loose and relaxed. He pinned on a vaguely amused smile and tilted his body towards Clint’s, as if looking for something to keep him upright.

Clint let out a long breath. “Yeah, okay, like that,” he muttered.

He adopted a drunken sway as they headed inside and rested a hand on Bucky’s arm, but it wasn't until he sent a wink at the half-asleep guy behind the reception desk that Bucky realised they were faking a drunken one night stand.

He supposed that worked, even if it made his heart clench. He concentrated on keeping his tipsy smile in place, because if he really were about to have sex with Clint, he’d look pretty damn happy.

Clint’s room was tiny and had walls so thin that Bucky could hear every word of the conversation in the dormitory next door. He had a backpack leaning against the wall, erupting clothes. None of them were purple, which made Bucky’s heart clench in a different way.

Clint pulled out a laptop and plugged in the flash drive. “Come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath as it booted up.

There was a loud burst of laughter from next door. “Are you getting any sleep here?” asked Bucky.

Clint glanced over at the wall separating them from the noise and made a face. “Some,” he said. “Between the army and the circus, I’m kinda used to noise at night.”

There was a beep from the computer and his attention was arrested. “Okay, search data for Caesar,” he said, typing something in.

There weren't a lot of choices for a seat, so Bucky gave up on keeping his distance and settled on the bed next to him. On screen, an hourglass was spinning.

“Are you thinking Antwerp next, if nothing comes up?” asked Bucky.

Clint nodded distractedly. “It’s the nearest.”

Bucky wondered how long he could keep borrowing the quinjet for the night under the guise of going to see a non-existent boyfriend before Steve would want details about him. Did he want to go down the slippery slope of starting to make things up about some imaginary guy? And if he did, was he going to just end up describing Clint?

The search completed, pulling up a file.

“Oh yes!” said Clint, double-clicking on it. “Here we go, this is it, come on.”

The file opened and he skimmed over it. “Research Unit Caesar requisitioned twenty AK-47s and a crate of grenades in… Okay, in 1998, but at least we know they were still around twenty years ago. We’re getting closer.”

“Is there a shipping address for the weapons?” asked Bucky.

Clint’s eyes darted over the page. “No, just says they were sent by Route Firenze, whatever the fuck that means. Fuck, of course we still don’t know where those assholes took the cauldron.”

“Hydra had a bunch of different networks and routes for smuggling weapons and people around Europe,” said Bucky. Once upon a time he’d been one of the weapons being smuggled. 

He searched his memory for which route might have been Firenze, but if anyone had ever bothered telling the Winter Soldier how he was being moved, the memory hadn’t survived the chair.

“I’m sorry, I’ve no idea where Firenze led.”

Clint let out a very long sigh and fell back on the bed, flinging his arms out as if in defeat. With how small the bed was, that meant his head ended up right next to Bucky’s hip. “Fuck this fucking bullshit.”

Bucky looked down at Clint’s face as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and his fingers twitched to stroke through his hair, as if that would comfort him somehow and not just make things awkward and horrible.

It would be far more useful if he could actually drag some knowledge about Hydra’s logistics out of his brain. That was why Clint had included him in this search, after all, because he was the nearest expert on Hydra.

Clint let out a sigh and reached out to close the laptop so that he could dump it on the floor, then turned on his side and press his forehead against Bucky’s thigh. “I just want to find the fucking thing and finish this,” he said, sounding on the verge of tears. “It’s been  _ so long _ .”

Ah, crap, how was Bucky meant to resist that? His hand found its way to Clint’s shoulder, rubbing over his back in what he hoped could be passed off as a friendly gesture of reassurance. He really wanted to just wrap Clint up his arms and hold him until he felt better. Or until he explained why some ancient cauldron was so important.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and focus on the transport routes instead. “The EU Customs Union made it a lot easier to move things around mainland Europe,” he said, slowly. “By 1998, they only used those smuggling routes to leave the EU.”

Clint turned his head just enough to blink up at Bucky, but didn’t pull away from him. “So, this asshole unit is outside the EU?”

Bucky shrugged. “Probably,” he said. “And most of the routes off the continent went by sea. Air freight is too closely monitored.”

Clint nodded, nudging his head against Bucky’s leg as he did so. “Antwerp has a massive port.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, stilling his hand but not able to bring himself to take it off Clint’s shoulder just yet. He had a fizzing feeling in his stomach that only added to the unreal aura that was hanging over them, as if this moment existed outside of everything else between them. “The base there was a transport hub. They moved me through there once, to get to Northern Ireland.” 

He tried not to think about how much longer it had taken for a ceasefire to be agreed because of the missions they’d had him carry out while he was there, because if he started going through all the ways that he’d elongated and escalated conflicts over the last seventy years, he’d go down a spiral that they didn’t have time for right now.

Clint let out a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, then Antwerp’s where we’ll head next. I’ll text you when I’m in place, next week sometime.”

“Next week,” agreed Bucky, then frowned. “Are you sure you want to wait that long? It must only be a few hours drive.”

“Yeah, but it’s a lot longer than that from New York, even by quinjet,” pointed out Clint. “You can’t tell me that Steve’s gonna let it go if you head out here again tomorrow night.”

_ I could just stay with you, _ thought Bucky, but even as he was thinking it he knew it couldn’t happen. The team was already down Clint, they needed him to be around.

“Thanks for thinking of me then, I guess,” said Bucky. 

“Sure,” said Clint. “Hydra-hunting bros, right?” He held his fist up for Bucky to bump, which he did with a roll of his eyes and a warm glow in his chest. “I’ve waited this long, I can afford a week or two more,” added Clint.

That wasn’t how it had seemed from Clint’s reaction earlier, but Bucky didn’t point that out. He just patted at Clint’s back and said, “We’ll find it.”

“We fucking better,” muttered Clint, then he sighed and pressed his face to Bucky’s leg for a long moment before rolling away, sitting up and scrubbing at his face. “Sorry.”

“No, I get it,” said Bucky. “You said this was the only way you could come home. I may not understand why the fuck that is, but I know what it’s like to want to go home but not be able to. Even when Natasha’s going to be unbelievably pissed with you.”

Clint laughed. “Yeah, that’s true,” he said. “She’s going to give me one of her really terrifying telling offs. What does it say about me that I can’t wait?”

“Not good things,” said Bucky, grinning back at him.

Clint shrugged, rolling out his shoulders. “I mean, that pretty much sums up my whole lifestyle, I guess.”

“The Avenging lifestyle, or the Australian backpacker lifestyle?” asked Bucky.

“Both,” said Clint. “Have you felt how uncomfortable this bed is? And those guys next door never shut up, seriously, it sounded like they were having a rave in there all last night. What the hell was I thinking coming up with this as a cover?”

“Probably how cool you’d look with a beard,” said Bucky, and realised his mistake a moment too late.

Clint’s face lit up and he stroked a hand over the beard. “Aha! So you do like it! I knew it made me look hot.”

It cut too deep to the bone, especially with all the emotions that their closeness on the bed had churned up, and Bucky couldn’t keep his feelings from showing on his face for a split-second. A split-second was too long when a guy as observant as Clint was looking at you.

Clint winced and Bucky got up off the bed, clearing his throat. “I should get going,” he said, because that was a landmine he didn’t want to deal with.

“Yeah,” said Clint, quietly, then he let out a long breath. “Man, I can’t wait until I can come back with you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You know you could come back right now, yeah? Nothing stopping you.”

Clint shook his head, which made Bucky clench his fists with frustration because, fuck, why did Clint have to make everything so difficult on himself? “I can’t come back unless we get the cauldron,” he said.

“ _ Until _ ,” corrected Bucky. “If that’s what’s keeping you away, then we’ll find the damn thing. Just got to go through every Hydra base until we find the right one.”

“True,” said Clint. “This is the closest I’ve been since. Shit. Since we lost the fucking thing in the first place.” He let out a breathy laugh. “I actually can’t believe how close we are. And then I’ll get to come home and live my life just how I want to.”

Bucky found a grin at that, because he may never be going to have a chance at dating Clint, but getting to be friends and teammates with him was a good second-best. “The dartboard’s still up,” he said. “But no one else will play against me, so you better be ready for a rematch when you do come home.”

“Definitely,” said Clint, grinning back. “I always enjoy kicking your ass.” 

The grin only lasted a moment, though, before a shadow passed over his face and he took a deep breath.

“Okay, look, this is… this is probably a dick move, feel free to tell me I’m an asshole and just leave, but… do you–” He cut himself off and made a face, and for a moment Bucky thought he was getting a reprieve from whatever this was going to be, then Clint’s jaw clenched and he fixed Bucky with a serious look. “Would you still want to give things between us a try? Like, a proper try, not just fucking to relieve tension?”

It took Bucky a moment to process that, and another moment to come up with a response. Why the hell would Clint ask that? What happened to both of them carefully pretending there had never been anything other than friendship between them? 

“You’re right, that is a dick move,” he said, eventually. “What the hell, Clint? Why the fuck would you ask me that?”

Clint’s gaze didn’t waver, although he did grimace as if acknowledging what a shit he was being. “Because if I find the cauldron, everything will change for me. Not just getting to go back to the Tower and be yelled at by Nat, but I’d be able to put all these stupid secrets behind me and actually have a proper life. Including having a relationship, and–” he hesitated, then ploughed on, “and if I had the chance, I’d want that to be with you.”

Bucky just stared at him for several long seconds while it felt like his guts were being scooped out. “What?” he managed, and then shook his head. “No, don’t, just– Fuck, Clint, you asshole, it’s been fucking months, why the fuck would you do this now?”

“Because I’ve never been this close before,” said Clint. “Look, just… tell me to fuck off if you want, I just had to ask.” He drew in an unsteady breath. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted. “Just the possibility I might get that, with you…” He stopped and stared helplessly at Bucky, as if he were the one being put through the emotional wringer. “Please, Bucky, just let me know if it’s too late and I already ruined everything so I know not to bother hoping.”

Fuck. Fuck, this was not fair, not at all. Bucky glanced away from Clint’s face, because he couldn’t handle looking at his pleading expression. He ran his hands over his hair, resisting the urge to clutch at it. What was he meant to say? ‘Yes, of course I want to be with you, it totally doesn’t matter that you treated me like shit’? He should tell him to fuck off just on principle.

Except, how could he turn down this chance of actually getting what he wanted? He was in love with Clint, and even the shitty way things had ended between them hadn’t changed that.

“Bucky,” said Clint, softly, then stopped.

He looked just as twisted around by emotions as Bucky felt. Faced with that look, there was no way that Bucky could hold on to the excellent reasons he had for telling him to fuck off.

“It’s not too late,” he said, and Clint’s whole body lightened. “But I don’t– I can’t do that again. No half-measures or messing around, you’d need to be all in.”

Clint nodded. “I would be,” he said. “I just. Fuck, I just need to find the fucking cauldron, and then I can do that. Whatever you want.”

“This fucking cauldron,” muttered Bucky, because it just kept coming back to that. “But I’m not allowed to know why some relic is worth so much to you?”

Clint gave a miserable shrug. “I can’t.”

Right, of course not.

“I promise, Bucky, when we get it, everything will be different,” said Clint. “No more secrets.”

“That would make a change,” said Bucky, then forced himself to take a deep breath before he said anything that he’d end up regretting. “Okay, fine. We’ll find Research Unit Caesar, get the cauldron, and then… and then I guess you can try asking me on a date.”

Clint nodded. “Dinner and dancing,” he said, as if it were a vow. He shifted as if to get up and move towards Bucky, then held himself back.

Bucky was fighting the urge to move as well. Now that he knew he wasn’t the only one feeling this way, he was desperate to kiss Clint, to take him in his arms and push him down on the tiny, uncomfortable bed and–

No. Not yet. They’d find this thing so that Clint was released from whatever obligation had him walking away from his whole life, and then they’d start something new, something where Clint better fucking be open and honest with him, or Bucky was going to just walk away. No matter how much it hurt.

  
  


**** 

  
  


He was still trying to process everything when he landed the quinjet back at the Tower which meant, of course, that Steve was waiting for him.

“Have fun?” he asked, with the sly grin of a man who thought his friend had spent the whole night fucking.

Man, Bucky wished he’d spent the whole night fucking.

He shrugged and pinned on a smirk of his own. “Guess you could say that.”

Steve snorted and slapped a hand to his shoulder. “So, when do I get to meet him?”

Bucky shook his head. “Sorry, man. It’s not that simple.”

“Ah, come on, Buck,” said Steve. “I swear I won’t scare him. Well, not that much.”

Shit. Bucky hated lying to Steve.

“He doesn’t exactly live close,” said Bucky, gesturing at the quinjet and giving a shrug. “Maybe in a few months.” Hopefully they’d have tracked this cauldron thing down by then, and he’d be able to bring Clint home. Hopefully that would distract Steve so that he wouldn’t be too pissed about all the lies Bucky was telling him.

“All right, fine,” said Steve. “Keep your dirty little secret for now.”

Guilt twisted in Bucky’s stomach, but he managed another grin before he headed to his room.

Natasha was waiting outside it, arms crossed as she leant against the wall, but she straightened when she saw Bucky. She ran her eyes down him with a professional eye, and then she sighed.

“There better be a good reason for this secrecy,” she said.

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, edging towards his door to escape her too-knowing gaze. “My fella’s kinda shy.”

She snorted. “I know him too well to believe that.”

She walked away without another word, leaving Bucky to watch her go and hope like hell that she hadn’t meant what he thought she’d meant.

Fuck, of course she knew. She always knew everything.

Bucky let out a long breath and went into his room. He needed a shower long enough and hot enough to settle all these emotions back down under his skin.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


Knowing that he definitely had a shot with Bucky if he could just find the cauldron made all the desperate hope that Clint had been trying to control since Llywelyn had shown him the file surge up. He spent the next week in a state of breathless anticipation that was exhausting to sustain but that he couldn't shake.

He was tempted to just go straight to Antwerp and get on with infiltrating the base, but he'd told Bucky he’d wait so that he could come along. Besides, it was more fun with him. 

He couldn't stop himself from texting Bucky beyond the brief when and where texts he’d been forcing himself to keep to before, though.

_ I’m 90% certain there’s an actual orgy going on in the dorm next door right now. _

_ A mugger just thought an Australian backpacker would be an easy target and had a really, really, nasty shock. _

_ Which shade should I go for? _ with a photo of the shelf of brown hair dyes.

_ I like it best blond, _ Bucky sent back, so quickly that he must have had the phone already in his hand.

Right, Clint could do that. He grabbed a box from another shelf and headed to the till.

When he sent a photo of his bleached white-blond hair, all spiked up to make himself look as douchey as possible, he got another nearly instantaneous response.

_ Not what I meant. _

A second later another one came through.

_ Somehow you manage to make it look good though. _

Clint grinned to himself. It was like a warm flood through his body whenever it struck him all over again that he still had a chance at being with Bucky. 

More than a chance, because he  _ was _ going to find the cauldron and get it back to Wales. He wasn't going to let this slip through his fingers.

Thoughts of Bucky and the future he might be able to have with him completely distracted Clint from doing anything once he reached Antwerp other than text Bucky to say he was planning to hit the base that night.

_ On my way over, _ Bucky sent back.

Which meant that Clint didn’t actually see the Hydra base until Bucky had landed and they’d walked over for recon. 

He did his best not to act like a teenager with a crush, but it was tough when Bucky turned up in a battered leather jacket, looking even hotter than usual. Clint couldn't stop sending him quick, darting looks as they walked over to the base, which Bucky clearly noticed from the smirk he was wearing.

“Something on my face?” he asked, eventually.

“Just a whole load of handsome,” said Clint because, fuck it, he might as well start trying to make up for his previous behaviour now.

Bucky snorted a laugh. “Smooth,” he said, as they turned onto the road that the Hydra base was on.

“Oh,” said Clint, stopping dead.

It had been a large warehouse, but now there was nothing left but a blackened ruin.

“Huh,” said Bucky, also stopping. “You didn’t check it was still here?”

Clint shrugged. “Guess I was distracted.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that he couldn’t quite conceal. “Maybe you’re concentrating too hard on growing the beard and not enough on the mission.”

Clint couldn’t resist stroking his beard again. It had been a long time since he’d had one, not since the decade he’d spent farming in Wales after the First World War. Somehow, it made him feel young again, for all that he could remember what that had felt like. “I’m thinking about braiding it, once it’s long enough. What do you think?”

Bucky snorted. “I think you dragged me across the Atlantic to stare at a burnt out building and trying to distract me with mental images of you looking like a complete idiot isn’t going to make me forget.”

Clint sighed, dropping his hand from his beard and looking back at the warehouse. “Think they moved to another building close-by?” he asked, without much hope.

Bucky shook his head. “Nah, I reckon they did this themselves. When Hydra decommission a base, it always ends with arson.”

“Great,” said Clint, sighing. “Guess that’s a dead end, then.” He turned away, looking back the way they’d come. “There was a bar up here, right?”

Bucky looked like he was going to argue that idea for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, okay. Let’s have a drink, if we’re not going to get to beat up Hydra.”

Clint patted his shoulder. “Next time,” he promised.

The bar was too close to the port not to be a bit rough, but it provided them with beer and fries, so it was good enough.

“Okay, where am I heading next?” asked Clint. “Which of those other bases on your list had logistics functions? We need to find somewhere that has information on their transport routes.”

Bucky stole one of Clint’s fries as he considered that. “Aosta,” he said, eventually.

“Okay, great,” said Clint. “Should I have any idea where that is?”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s in Italy, right up by the Swiss border. It was a logistics satellite for the massive base they had in the Matterhorn.”

“The one you and Steve blew up together just before you came in from the cold?” asked Clint, stealing one of Bucky’s fries in return. 

Bucky scowled. “Steve wasn’t meant to be there,” he muttered. “But yeah. It turned out that having a super-secret lair inside a mountain meant it was almost impossible to bring supplies in. They brought some things in through Zermatt but that was tricky as hell, so they put what was basically a glorified warehouse in Aosta to bring stuff in through. Whenever they took me to the Matterhorn base, we stopped at Aosta first then got a helicopter for the final bit, but they had a road route up the valley to a tunnel under the mountain as well.”

“You know, I never stopped to consider the logistics of a mountain base,” said Clint. “I guess style isn’t everything.”

He reached for another of Bucky’s fries but was too slow and got batted away. He sighed, and ate one of his own instead.

“The key thing,” said Bucky, “is that Aosta was one of the first bases set up specifically to be logistics, so it was where the head guys for the logistics network tended to be.”

Clint grinned. “Which means it’s likely to have a lot of information about transport networks and so on.”

“Exactly,” said Bucky, grinning back, and then taking advantage of Clint’s distraction to steal another of his fries.

Clint’s phone rang before he could retaliate. He pulled it out with a frown, because who the hell would be calling him if Bucky was with him?

When he saw the screen read ‘R Calling’, he groaned.

“I told you I’d let you know if I found something,” he answered without bothering with a greeting.

“<You must have found something by now,>” said Rhys. He was using Welsh, which meant he was somewhere he was sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “<It’s been weeks.>”

Clint met Bucky’s eyes and saw the frustrated, shuttered look he got whenever he was faced with one of Clint’s many secrets. Fuck, he hated that look.

“<Nothing but breadcrumbs,>” said Clint, trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed Bucky’s scowl grow darker at the sound of Welsh. “<Hydra is huge, we’re having to go through base after base to get anything.>”

Rhys let out a sigh. “<You need help,>” he said, without any hint of a question in his voice.

“<I’m fine,>” said Clint. “<I’ve got help.>”

“<Proper help,>” said Rhys. “<From people who know just how important this is.>”

“<You mean, from people who haven’t experienced modern combat and have no idea how dangerous Hydra can be,>” shot back Clint.

“<What are they going to do? Kill me?>” asked Rhys, dismissively. “<I was the leader, it was my idea. This is my responsibility. I’m not going to sit out of this any longer.>”

Clint clenched his jaw, but he had a point. Rhys had been the one to suggest raiding the shrine, he should have some hand in fixing it.

That didn’t mean Clint was ready to lose his one-on-one time with Bucky just yet, though. “<We’re hitting logistics bases until we can find information about where the unit who had the cauldron are based,>” he said. “<Until we know where they are, there’s not much point in you leaving your life behind.>”

“< I have a lot of holiday time saved up,>” said Rhys. Clint bet he fucking did, the asshole probably hadn’t taken any time off since he started at his parish. “<Send me the location of the next base you’re hitting and I’ll meet you there.>”

Clint let out a long sigh, rubbing at his forehead, but he couldn’t think of a reason to put Rhys off. “<Fine,>” he snapped. “<Expect a text.>”

He hung up without waiting for a goodbye and dropped the phone on the table.

“Your brother?” asked Bucky.

Clint shook his head.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You sounded kinda pissed, like you did with your brother. Who else do you know that speaks Welsh?” He hesitated, then guessed, “The friend who’s looking after your bow?”

Clint sighed and slumped back in his seat. “Nope,” he said. Bucky’s face creased with irritation and Clint took pity on him. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t going to have to introduce them before they took out the next base, if Rhys was insisting on coming along. “There are six of us,” he said, and Bucky straightened with surprise. “Six guys trying to find the cauldron. Me, my brother, the guy looking after my bow, and three others. That was one of them.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Checking up on your progress?”

“Basically,” said Clint. He spun the phone on the table. “He’s insisting on coming along to the next base,” he said, “so I’ll guess you’ll meet him then.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised. “You’re not going to tell me not to come so that you can keep more of your secrets? Or are you just going to talk Welsh the whole time?”

“He speaks English as well,” said Clint, which wasn’t much of an answer, but then he wasn’t sure he had one. He probably should try and keep Bucky and the others apart, and Rhys would be pissed that he hadn’t, but he didn’t have it in him to maintain that level of separation just now. 

“Okay,” said Bucky, slowly. “He got a name?”

“Hundreds,” said Clint, and stole another of Bucky’s fries. Bucky made a frustrated growl and grabbed a whole handful of Clint’s in retaliation. “You know we could just order more, right?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Bucky. “And, seriously, am I meant to be calling this guy Welsh Dude or what?”

Clint grinned. “You could call him Bossy Welsh Dude if you like.” Bucky just looked at him. “Rhys, you can call him Rhys.” And if Rhys got pissy about Clint giving his name out to people, then he could fuck off. It wasn’t as if he’d be happier about being introduced as Reverend Matthews, given that was the name that actually linked back to his current life.

“Rhys,” said Bucky, slowly. “He got a surname?”

Clint shrugged in response, and Bucky let out a sigh when he realised he wasn’t getting any further with this round of questions. “Okay, fine,” he said. “If that’s all I’m getting, then you’re paying for more fries.”

“Sure,” agreed Clint, because the longer they were eating fries in this bar, the longer he had before Bucky disappeared back to New York.

  
  


**** 

  
  


Aosta wasn’t the kind of place where an Australian backpacker would blend in, so Clint changed his cover as he criss-crossed France on his way south. He dyed his hair again so it stood out less and swapped his t-shirts and bead necklace for walking boots and over-priced hiking pants. He kept the beard, though. It would work just as well for a hiking enthusiast as a surfer, and he liked the expression Bucky got whenever Clint stroked it, like he wanted to know how it felt.

Rhys was already waiting in the lobby of the hotel when Clint arrived.

“<You took your time,>” he said with a scowl, snapping out the Welsh consonants loudly enough for the nearest Italian to glance over at the unfamiliar sounds.

Clint shrugged. “<I’ve got people looking for me, I have to take some precautions.>”

“<I told you that you’d got too high profile,>” said Rhys, because he always had to be right.

“<Yeah, yeah,>” said Clint, waving that away. “<And if I’d gone for a quiet life, how much info would we have on where to go to get the cauldron back off Hydra right now?>”

Rhys didn’t have an answer for that.

“<I’m gonna check in, then we’ve got a couple of hours before Bucky gets here,>” said Clint. That made Rhys pull a face as well, but Clint went over to the reception before he could hear all about why he shouldn't have involved Bucky.

It wasn’t the greatest hotel Clint had ever stayed in but it was several steps above a hostel. Just having a bathroom to himself was going to be a treat.

Rhys followed him up to his room, settling on the bed while Clint unpacked as much as he ever did, which mainly involved tucking a few weapons about the place and hanging the  _ Do Not Disturb _ sign outside the door.

“<Do you have a plan?>” Rhys asked.

Clint shrugged. “<Bit of recon this afternoon, then hit the place tonight. Grab everything off their servers, go through their paper files, beat up anyone who tries to stop us.>”

Rhys stared at him for a long moment, then let out a heartfelt sigh. “<Jesus, Gwion, no wonder you’re never been an officer. Is that really the best you can do?>”

“<It’s worked for us so far,>” said Clint. 

Rhys shook his head. “<We’ll work out a better plan when Thomas gets back.>”

“<Thomas is here?>” asked Clint. Christ, this was turning into a full-scale reunion.

“<Of course,>” said Rhys. “<He isn't the type to stay home and let others sort out his problems.>”

Clint had to admit that was true. “<He better not be drunk.>”

“<I made it very clear that he wasn't to touch any alcohol on this trip,>” said Rhys. “<He went out for a walk while we were waiting for you. I think he was avoiding the temptation of the hotel bar.>”

“<Good thing that’s the only place in town to get a drink, then,>” said Clint sarcastically. His phone beeped before Rhys could respond and he pulled it out to see a text from Bucky.

_ Twenty minutes out. You did check this place is still there this time, right? _

_ Of course, _ sent back Clint, because it had been the first thing he’d checked when he arrived in town.  _ What kind of an amateur wouldn’t check that the base was still standing? _

He sent the name of the hotel and his room number in a second text, and added,  _ Rhys is already pissing me off, please come and rescue me. _

_ This guy pisses you off, your brother pisses you off. Are there any of them that don’t? Because at some point, surely you have to consider that it’s not them, it’s you. _

Clint snorted a laugh. Rhys made a considering humming noise and Clint glanced up from his phone. “<What?>”

“<Nothing,>” said Rhys. “<Just, if you always have that gormless smile when you’re talking to him, there can’t be anyone left around you who doesn’t know how you feel about him.>”

Clint had been about to reply to Bucky’s text, but he tucked his phone away instead. “<So what if they do?>” he asked.

Rhys let out a very long sigh, and Clint glared at him. “<Don’t give me that, man. If we find the cauldron, I’ll be spending the rest of my life with him.>” He considered, then shrugged a shoulder. “<If he’s okay with that.>”

He could see Rhys considering his response to that, but luckily he decided to keep to the pact they’d come to several centuries ago and didn’t bring up his opinions on Clint’s relationships. “<And if we don’t find it?>” he asked instead.

Clint clenched his jaw and looked away, rifling through his bag for nothing in particular. “<Positive mental attitude, Rhys,>” he said. “<We’re going to get it, I can feel it.>”

There was a tap on the door and he strode over to open it, his heart leaping in his chest, but it wasn’t Bucky.

“<Hi, Gwion. Third time in one year, that’s got to be some kind of record, right?>” said Thomas, and Clint stepped back to let him in.

“<Probably in the last thousand years, yeah,>” agreed Clint, examining him for any signs of drinking.

Thomas caught him at it, not that Clint had been trying to be subtle. He rolled his eyes. “<I haven’t drunk anything in days, and I don’t plan to until we get this cauldron.>”

“<At which point you’ll celebrate so hard you’ll pass out for three days?>” suggested Clint, and earned himself a grin and a hard slap on the back.

“<I should think we all will>,” said Thomas and, well, he wasn’t wrong. Clint would definitely be having a few drinks if they ever managed that.

“<Not all of us need alcohol to feel happy,>” said Rhys.

Clint and Thomas caught each other’s eyes and gave simultaneous eye rolls.

Bucky arrived about fifteen minutes later, just as Clint was reaching his limit with listening to Thomas wind Rhys up, and Rhys getting on his high horse as if he were any better than the rest of them.

“Oh, thank god,” he said, when he opened the door to find Bucky waiting, a sports bag that must contain his weapons slung over one shoulder. “Someone sane.” And hot. Bucky was already in his combat gear with only a jacket thrown over the top, and Clint allowed himself a long, slow look to take in just how nicely those pants fitted over his thighs. “You’re definitely a sight for sore eyes,” he added, with a wink.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I’ve been called sane since 1941, but okay.”

“Compared to these two assholes–” started Clint.

He was interrupted by Thomas, who it turned out was even more annoying sober, yelling, “Fuck you, Gw– Clint.”

Because of course Thomas couldn’t remember to use Clint’s current name. He sighed and stepped back to let Bucky in, closing the door behind him. “Bucky, this is Thomas and Rhys. Please ignore everything they say.”

Rhys gave Bucky a long look over that held none of the appreciation that Clint’s had, then looked back at Clint. “<And you’re sure we need him?>”

Bucky let out a very quiet sigh at the sound of Welsh, and Clint frowned at Rhys. “Don’t be rude.”

Thomas stood up and came over to offer Bucky his hand. “I am pleased to meet you, Bucky,” he said. “I have heard many great things of you from our Clint, and I am glad you have decided to aid our quest.”

He was definitely playing up his Welsh accent so that he sounded like the BBC’s idea of a Celtic bard, but Clint was willing to let that go. They all had roles they liked to play, after all.

“No problem,” said Bucky, shaking his hand. “Any excuse to destroy Hydra.”

“There will be no destruction of the base until we are sure the artefact isn’t within,” said Rhys, forbiddingly.

“I’m not interested in destroying buildings, I’m interested in destroying people,” said Bucky, and gave him his best psychotic grin.

Damn, why was that so hot?

“Okay,” said Clint, clearing his throat. “Shall we all try and keep on track?”

Bucky’s grin faded and he gave Rhys a dark look that meant he was having the same reaction that people usually had to being in the same room as him, then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I drew up plans of what I remember of the base. I think I saw pretty much all of it, given how many times I got brought through on the way to other places.”

Clint grinned at him. “Awesome, not just a pretty face,” he said, and turned to clear the scattered hotel pamphlets off the desk. “Lay it out.”

Bucky did. He’d filled in as much as he could of all four levels of the compound, and marked in guard locations. “This is all very out of date,” he said. “The destruction of the Matterhorn base probably meant that things got all changed around. This base would have become a lot less important after that.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t decommissioned it,” said Clint, looking over entry and exit points.

Bucky shrugged. “Guess we’re just lucky.”

“Well, that’ll be a first,” said Thomas. He glanced over the plans then let out a sigh and retreated to collapse on the bed. “This all means very little to me. Just tell me where to go.”

Clint nodded to himself, and tapped a side entrance. “That looks like our best bet.”

“I thought so,” said Bucky. “The records we need will most likely be here, or here.” He tapped two rooms on the third floor.

“Do we have any idea how many men will be on site?” asked Rhys.

Bucky shook his head. “I can tell you how many there were ten years ago, or twenty, but there’s no way it will have stayed the same.” 

Rhys scowled. “Recon is still important, then.”

Clint nodded. Ideally, he’d spend several days and nights watching the place, tracking all the comings and goings, but he was all too aware of the short timespan they had before Bucky needed to head back to New York. “Me and Bucky will head over after this. We’ve got actual experience with casing these kinds of places.”

Plus it meant he’d get some time alone with Bucky. Hopefully he’d be able to get some more flirting in. He was really enjoying the flirting.

“<I don’t know, I think we’ve all cased joints in our time,>” said Thomas in Welsh, grinning up at the ceiling with amusement.

“<I hardly think a shrine in a cave is the same as a Hydra base>,” Clint shot back in the same language. Bucky shifted beside him and he switched back to English, because he really didn’t want to be that dick. “And seriously, let’s keep to languages we all understand.”

“No Russian, then?” said Bucky.

Rhys glanced up at him with a smug look. “I speak Russian.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him and Clint sighed. “I don’t,” he pointed out. “Not really. Not enough to do more than order a coffee and complain about the check after.”

“I can’t even do that,” admitted Thomas. “Irish, though–”

“Dún do chlab,” snapped Clint, because maybe he’d never properly learnt Irish, but he did know how to tell someone to shut up in half the languages under the sun.

Thomas snorted with laughter, but obligingly fell silent.

Clint looked back at the map. “There are four of us,” he said. “Two teams? One sweeping through this way,” he traced a line over the map, “And the other up through here,” he pointed out another route.

Bucky hesitated, then glanced at Rhys and Thomas. “No offence, but I don’t know these guys. I don’t trust either of them at my back.”

“None taken,” said Thomas, with a vague wave of his hand.

Rhys, who had spent most of the time that the rest of them had been bantering about languages frowning at the map, shook his head. “No, no good. Thomas and I don’t have the experience to work alone in a Hydra base, and splitting you two up is clearly not going to work. We’ll have to work as a team.” He set a finger on the door Bucky and Clint had decided to enter through. “We come in here, take out these rooms as silently as possible, then go straight to where the records should be. That gives us a way out, and we’ll just have to move fast and hope that the place has been partially abandoned as you suspect.”

He was using his captain’s voice, the one that had convinced Clint that it was worth following him all those years ago, even if it had been Llywelyn’s idea to join his band. Annoyingly, it still worked, even now Clint could compare it to Captain America’s and find it lacking.

Mind you, he wasn’t sure anyone could match Steve for an inspiring speech to the troops.

“Okay, let’s do it,” he agreed, then nudged Bucky. “Come on, let’s go check this place out and make sure that’ll work.”

Bucky was still staring down at the plan, but he nodded and straightened up. “Sounds good.”

“Don’t wait up,” said Clint, blowing a kiss at Thomas.

Thomas grunted. “<Don’t get distracted fucking him and get caught by Hydra,>” he responded, and Clint choked, then grabbed Bucky’s arm and yanked him out of there before he ended up trying to smother the asshole with a pillow.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


Clint let out a long sigh once they were out of the hotel and heading down the road, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced up at the mountains surrounding them.

“Those guys really piss you off,” said Bucky, watching as the tiny frown he hadn't even realised was there melted off Clint's face.

Clint pulled a face. “I’ve known them too long,” he said. “I pretty much know what they’re going to say before they say it, and just how much they know it’s going to irritate me.”

Bucky nodded, and didn't bother asking just how long Clint had known them. They interacted more like family than friends, but Clint had grown up in the circus and he couldn't see either of those guys in a circus. Maybe Thomas, he had the kind of build that looked like fat but turned out to be muscle, and he spoke like he was in a bad film about King Arthur.

Rhys was even more of a puzzle. He hadn't been wearing a dog collar, but the black shirt he’d been wearing had been pretty unmistakable. But then, he’d also spoken like someone used to leading men into battle. Clint's old army captain turned vicar?

“But fuck ‘em,” said Clint cheerfully. “Right now I get to do recon with the sexiest guy I know, I’m not thinking about those arseholes.”

He had started using an English accent as soon as they’d left the hotel room, slipping into it apparently without even thinking. Bucky wondered just how many accents he was able to pull off so flawlessly and then, with a stomach-sinking feeling, if American was even his original accent. He had a faint Welsh lilt when he was talking to Rhys and Thomas that Bucky wasn't sure he was aware of.

No, he must have grown up in America, or he wouldn’t have been in the circus at the right time to get to know Frank Barton well enough to use his identity. Even if he was older than Frank, he still would have been a kid when he met him.

“Sexiest  _ guy _ you know,” said Bucky, pushing the hundreds of questions he had aside and focusing on flirting instead. “Are you saying you know women who are sexier?” 

Clint shrugged. “I mean, Nat.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at him and got a shrug in return. “Yeah, okay, you probably win that one as well.”

Bucky gave him a pleased smirk for that, even if he didn’t agree. Of course, as far as he was concerned, the sexiest Avenger was always going to be Clint, even if he technically wasn’t an Avenger right now. No one else on the team came close to the visual perfection that was Clint drawing back his bowstring in a tight, sleeveless shirt, with one of his confident smirks on his face because he already knew he was going to hit his target.

They found a rooftop opposite the Hydra base to lie on and watch all the comings and goings. After a couple of hours, it was pretty clear that there weren’t a hell of a lot of either.

“I haven’t even seen that much movement inside,” said Clint. “This is going to be easy.”

“Careful not to jinx us,” said Bucky, but he couldn't argue with him. The only Hydra agents they’d seen had looked bored and complacent.

Clint rolled his eyes. “I think we’re all right. Most of them will probably piss their pants when they see the Winter Soldier coming for them, anyway. Or, hell, Rhys is pretty terrifying when he gets that ‘I bring the righteous fury of God’ look.”

“He can fight then,” said Bucky. “Both of them?”

“Oh yeah,” said Clint. “I mean, not our level, but they’ve both done their time in the military.”

“At the same time as you?” asked Bucky, because there was only so much he could button his lip. Clint just gave him a look and didn’t answer.

Bucky scowled. “You know, you’re an idiot if you don’t think you’ve dropped enough hints for me to piece together most of your life. Welsh parents, childhood in the circus where you once made friends with a kid in the foster system, a couple of years living in Brooklyn before you joined the Army, then SHIELD and the Avengers. I may not have the details on this cauldron or exactly when you met these guys, but I reckon I've got the rough overview.”

“It’s way more complicated than that,” said Clint with a world weary sigh that felt a bit over-the-top. Bucky was beginning to think all this secrecy was at least partially a plot to make Clint seem cool and mysterious.

“And I wasn’t friends with Frank,” added Clint. “I just wish I had been. If I’d made more effort, things coulda gone very differently for him.”

Bucky let the conversation get turned. “You were only a kid. What could you have done?”

Clint shook his head as if that didn’t matter. “The clowns thought it was funny to get him drunk,” he said as if it were a confession. “They treated him like a novelty. A mascot. He thought it meant they cared about him, but they were bored of it by the time we moved on. When he ran away to follow us, they just laughed at him, told him they were done with having an annoying kid around and sent him packing.”

He dropped his head to stare down at the rooftop. “I just let it happen. I could have told him from the start how it would end, but I didn't. I could have followed him when he disappeared and made sure he actually went home, but I just assumed it would be fine, that he’d do the sensible thing. What hurt teenager has ever done the sensible thing?” 

His voice was strained with emotion. Bucky hadn’t realised just how cut up he still was about this, even what must be thirty years later. He scooted over on the roof, gravel shifting under him and biting into his skin, so that he could wrap an arm around Clint's shoulders. 

Clint took a deep breath. “And then the police turned up a couple of years later and I was the only one who remembered him. I didn't say anything, though, I just let myself be yet another asshole who took advantage of him, because it wasn't like there was anyone left in Iowa to mourn him, except maybe a caseworker who would feel like they’d failed him if they knew he was dead. I just looked at the photo the police had and thought, ‘that’ll be a good identity to steal’.”

Bucky frowned, because that didn't fit with the timeline he had in his head. “You were already planning to change identities when you were a kid?”

Clint shook his head then turned into Bucky's embrace to push his face into his neck. “Ask me again when we have the cauldron.”

Bucky let out a sigh, but he was finding it hard to be irritated when he had Clint pressed up against him. He stroked his hand down Clint’s back. “Okay, but I better get your life story before you take me for dinner.”

“Deal,” said Clint into his shoulder. “Well, it’ll take a while, how about a broad overview before, and I fill in any details you want over dinner? If you still want to go,” he added. “You might decide it’s all too messed up for you to get involved.”

“Couldn't be any more messed up than mine,” said Bucky. 

Clint snorted and lifted his head. “Wanna bet?” he asked with a grin.

His face was hovering only a few inches above Bucky’s and it would be so easy to lean up and kiss him. Bucky struggled for a moment, then forced himself to move away. He wasn’t doing this until Clint could be honest with him. He owed that to himself.

“I don’t make bets with people who cheat at poker,” he said, then looked back at the Hydra base. “Give it another hour then head back?”

Clint moved away, back into his own space. “Sure,” he said. “The longer we’re away from Rhys and Thomas, the better.”

  
  


**** 

  
  


They took take out back to the hotel room. Clint was unable to contain his glee at genuine Italian pizza, which made it hard for Bucky to take his eyes off his bright, pleasure-filled grin. It wasn't that different to how he’d looked the time Bucky had blown him in the showers after the fight with Kang that had ended with everyone drenched in beer.

That had been a really odd fight, and the faint after-taste of beer had made the blowjob pretty weird as well.

Rhys and Thomas seemed to have spent the intervening time watching the Italian version of Masterchef and were stuck in an argument over the use of eggplant in lasagne that carried on as they ate. Bucky didn’t mind when it switched to Welsh, especially as he was pretty sure it had descended into insults by that point.

Clint leaned over after about ten minutes and said, in a quiet voice, “Just in case you thought I was kidding about how annoying Rhys is, he just announced that God didn’t create eggplant for it to be used in lasagne with all the authority as if he’d had a personal chat with him about it.”

Rhys’s head jerked around to glare at him as Bucky tried to hide his snigger. “Don’t mock my relationship with God just because you settled on going to hell years ago,” he snapped, then gave Bucky a pointed look.

Clint stiffened, then stood up. “Don’t even fucking go there,” he spat. “I thought you were over that.”

Rhys sneered at him. “I may have stopped trying to change your mind, but that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned for your soul when you choose to roll around in sin like this.”

Oh, there was no way Bucky was going to put up with that. He stood up, shoulder to shoulder with Clint, who had his fists clenched.

“You better watch your mouth, pal.”

Thomas stood up a lot faster than Bucky would have thought a big guy like that could move, putting himself between the three of them. “Come on now,” he said. “We are brothers in tonight’s quest, at least. Let’s not let these stupid arguments break us down.”

“It’s not stupid to not want him to go harping on about fucking  _ choice _ like he hasn’t paid any attention to the world around him for the last fifty years,” snapped Clint. “Or really, to what the fuck I’ve been saying about it since we fucking meet. You really think I’d have chosen this back when we were all actually younger? What kind of moron would that have made me?”

Rhys held his hands up, but it didn’t look like a surrender to Bucky. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll leave my worry over your soul for–”

“You mean my fucking  _ immortal _ soul?” interrupted Clint, and snorted. He threw himself backwards onto the bed with a violent motion, splaying out on his back and staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you still think there’s a God who gives a fuck about that, not after everything. Not a Christian God, anyway.”

Rhys looked as if he were going to come back on that, but Thomas put his hands up before he could. “Okay, enough,” he said. “Let us concentrate on tonight’s mission and not on things we can’t prove one way or another. At least, not until we find the cauldron.”

Bucky turned to look at Clint. “You didn’t tell me I’d be going on a mission with a homophobe.”

Clint just shrugged. “I did tell you he was an asshole,” he pointed out.

Bucky sent one last glare at Rhys, who didn’t look cowed by it but did, at least, have the grace to look away.

“Let’s get ourselves ready,” said Thomas. “Come on Rhys, let’s go to our room.” He curled a hand around Rhys’s shoulder to get him moving towards the door.

“Meet in the lobby in an hour,” said Clint, and Thomas nodded at him as they went out.

Bucky let out a long sigh and sat back down next to where Clint was still spread out. “Jesus,” he said.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, shortly. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, we agreed to stop talking about it a few– ah, a few years ago, and I thought he’d maybe finally gotten over it, but I guess not.”

Bucky patted Clint‘s thigh in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, and tried not to think about the muscle he could feel corded underneath his clothes. “We finish this thing, find the cauldron, and then you never have to see him again, right?”

“Right,” agreed Clint, sitting up. “It’s going to be so sweet.” He put his hand over Bucky’s and gave it a squeeze. “And not just because of that.”

“Smooth,” said Bucky, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling at him. He kinda thought finally getting to go on a date with Clint was going to be sweet as well, and fuck anyone who thought that was wrong.

  
  


**** 

  
  


The Hydra base was a U-shaped building with a chainmail fence around it. The side door they were aiming for was only about five metres from the fence, but there was a camera covering it. Luckily, the camera was on a pivot that covered 180 degrees, which gave them a fifteen second window when it was pointing in the opposite direction.

“You’re sure that’s long enough to pick the lock?” Bucky asked Clint as they crouched in an alleyway across the road.

Clint rolled his eyes. “How dare you doubt my delinquent criminal skills?” he said. “Just be ready to follow me.”

He glanced at the camera, then darted out as soon as it was pointed away, clambering over the fence and dropping down the other side, then dashing to the camera’s blind spot as it moved around again. Hydra had mounted security lights all along the building so there was plenty of light for Bucky to see him by. He waited there for the time it took to slowly pass around the area where the door was, then spun back in the other direction.

Clint already had his lockpicks in his hand as he sprinted to the door and crouched in front of the lock. Bucky held his breath, one eye on the camera as it slowly moved around to the other side of its area, then started to come back. Clint had the door open in time though, and was through before he could get caught by the camera.

Bucky let out his breath, then glanced at Thomas and Rhys. “You two go next,” he said. “I’ll come after.”

As much as he wanted to join Clint as soon as possible, there wasn’t time for all three of them to get over the fence and to the door in the tiny window before the camera spun around, and he’d much rather be the one watching their backs than to have either of them watching his.

Rhys nodded and moved to the end of the alleyway. Thomas tucked his axe in his waistband and followed.

When Bucky and Clint had got down to the lobby and he’d found that Rhys and Thomas had brought along an actual sword and a god-damned axe to fight Hydra, he’d nearly bailed on the whole mission. Who the hell went into a neo-Nazi base armed like they were going to a Ren Faire?

Clint had vouched for them, though, promised that they were proficient enough with them not to be a liability, and Bucky had forced himself to believe him. He’d also offered them some of the spare body armour on the quinjet, but they’d declined.

“Don’t worry, they won’t hit us,” said Thomas with far more confidence than Bucky was happy with. It felt like they were severely underestimating Hydra, but Clint had just nodded at Bucky and, fuck it. They got to make their own stupid life choices.

Clint appeared back in the doorway and gave a thumbs up to show it was clear, and Thomas and Rhys took off across the space to join him. Bucky scanned the area as they moved, waiting for a sign that Hydra had spotted them, but nothing moved.

Waiting for the camera to move around again seemed to take forever, but eventually he was able to sprint across the road, swing himself over the fence and run through the door Clint was holding open for him.

He shut it behind him, leaving it just ajar enough for them to get back out if they needed a quick getaway, but closed enough to still look shut to the casual eye.

“No one in the adjacent rooms,” Clint whispered and Bucky nodded, pulling his gun out now that he didn’t need both hands to climb the fence.

Rhys and Thomas were braced at the corner, looking out at the corridor that led right down one arm of the U to the front of the building. 

“We need to make sure all these rooms are cleared before we head up,” said Rhys. “If anyone tries to block our exit, that’s where they’ll come from.”

They’d already discussed as much in the hotel, but apparently Rhys felt the urge to repeat information they all already had. Bucky gritted his teeth as he nodded, thinking that Clint had actually played down just how annoying this guy was.

They went room to room, Bucky or Clint stepping through each door first. They found a dormitory with a handful of guys asleep in bunks and silently moved through it, knocking each of them out before going back to tie them up so they wouldn’t be a problem if they woke up.

Bucky would have wanted to just shoot them all, but he was meant to be operating under the Avengers’ ‘no kill’ policy and, besides, a gunshot would give the game away far too early.

Once they’d made sure all the other rooms were empty, Clint gestured for them to head back to the end of the corridor.

The bottom of the U of the building was a massive warehouse where all the supplies used to be kept before they were loaded up to be shipped out to the Matterhorn base. Nowadays, it seemed to be used for storage, because the shelving units were covered in dust-sprinkled junk. Bucky wondered just how many of Hydra’s bases were being used as storage now that they had so much more equipment than they did agents. Were they were being optimistic about one day rebuilding enough to need it all, or was the current head of Hydra just something of a hoarder?

The warehouse stretched up all four storeys, with gantries running across at regular intervals. The stairs up were in the corner by the door, so they only had to sneak a few metres across the floor, but then it was two flights of noisy metal steps to get to the third floor, the whole time crossing their fingers and hoping like hell that the warehouse would be deserted at this time of night or that, if it wasn’t, they would blend in with the shadows enough not to be seen.

There were two guards on the third floor, hanging around outside the security door that lead to the administration area. Clint and Bucky took them down before they had the chance to even speak, let alone raise the alarm.

“You’re smoother at that than you used to be,” Thomas said to Clint.

Clint snorted. “Almost like I’ve had a lot of practice over the last decade.” He pulled the guns out of the Hydra agents’ hands and held them out to Thomas and Rhys. “Better in your hands than theirs,” he said, when Thomas hesitated.

Rhys took one and stuffed it into his waistband, then gave Thomas a pointed look.

Thomas sighed. “I hate these things,” he muttered, taking the other gun and looking it over with a frown. “Too many bad memories.”

Bucky had brought one of Tony’s little gadgets for getting through electronic locks, and it opened the keypad on the security door in no time. The administration offices were deserted at this time of night, but he made sure to check every room before going back to what had clearly been the main records room.

Clint had sat down at the computer and was booting it up, wincing at the loud sound of the processor warming up. Rhys and Thomas were going through the filing cabinets, frowning at what was probably more endlessly useless paperwork.

“Remember, we’re looking for stuff on their transport routes as well as Research Unit Caesar,” said Clint, typing something at the computer.

“When did you get so bossy, Gwion?” muttered Thomas, flicking through a file.

Clint stiffened and then turned to glare at him before glancing at Bucky as if he couldn’t stop himself. Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Another childhood nickname?” he asked.

Clint winced and Thomas’s head darted around as if he’d only just caught his mistake.

Bucky shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, because it hadn’t mattered what Clint’s real name was when he’d first found out it wasn’t Clint, and he was damned if it was going to matter now that he knew what it was. Unless ‘Gwion’ was just another fake identity, but he had a feeling Clint wouldn’t look so caught out if it were. “Names are just labels, and labels can be changed.”

He walked over to a desk in the corner that was covered with a pile of papers that hadn’t yet made their way into the filing cabinets and started going through them.

Behind him, he heard Clint let out a sigh. “Thanks,” he said, softly, and then, “when we find it, I swear.”

Bucky nodded without looking around, because the sooner they found some information worth having, the sooner Clint could make good on that promise. Most of the papers were shipping manifests, although none of them mentioned the transport routes they’d used because of course not. He flicked through them one by one, dumping them on the floor once he was sure they weren’t important.

Clint let out a sigh and shoved his chair away from the computer. “Nothing,” he said. “I’ve got it all on flashdrive anyway, but it’s not looking good.”

“I have only discovered that Hydra uses far more cleaning supplies than I would have thought,” said Thomas, shutting the last drawer of the cabinet he’d been going through.

“I guess they’ve got a lot of blood to clean up,” said Bucky, reaching the last scrap of paper and dumping it with a sigh. “Nothing here either, dammit.” He leaned his hands on the desk and dropped his head in frustration. 

He hadn’t been as committed to this search as Clint and the others were, but now he knew it was all that was keeping Clint from coming home and taking him out on a date, every failure to find anything useful made him want to smash things. He slammed his hands onto the glass surface, and then realised what he was looking at.

He moved his hands, straightening so that he could take in the map of Europe that had been put underneath the glass top of the desk, and the red lines drawn all over it.

“Clint,” he said, and Clint was by his side in a second.

“Oh,” he said, quietly, looking down at the transport routes that had been drawn on. “Where’s–” His finger dropped on the scrawled writing labelling Route Firenze. “Fuck, this is it.”

Bucky traced his finger along the red line, up from Aosta, through France to go around Switzerland, then the whole of the length of Germany to Bremerhaven, passing several marked in bases along the way, all marked with code names. There had been a base at the port in Bremerhaven until Bucky had destroyed it a couple of years ago. A few dotted lines crossed the North Sea from there, to the base in Scotland that they’d already been to, around Denmark to Gothenberg, which had been the main weapons testing facility before Bucky razed it to the ground, and to the western coast of Norway, where it ended at one of the tiny fjords there with an X marked  _ Keiser _ .

Rhys and Thomas came over to look as Clint pulled his phone out to take photos.

“This links at least five bases that I know of,” said Bucky, pressing his finger to each of the spots. “Three of them are destroyed, and there’s clearly at least a couple more I didn’t know about,” he said, touching the place in Norway and then a tiny cross just below Bielefeld that was labelled  _ Schatz _ . “I guess we work through those? This one, near Karlsruhe that they’re calling  _ Abend _ , that might be a good place to start, I think they held some historical archives–”

“No,” interrupted Rhys, putting his finger on the Norwegian spot. “Here,  _ Keiser _ . That’s the Norwegian for Emperor. Research Unit Caesar, right?”

“Shit,” said Clint, leaning over to look at it. “That’s it. That must be where they are.” He took a close up photo of the cross, then glanced up at Bucky with a bright grin. “We found the fuckers!”

“Just got to hope they still have the cauldron,” said Rhys.

Thomas nudged him with an elbow. “Just because Ifor isn’t here doesn’t mean you have to supply the pessimism for him.”

A red light suddenly lit up, followed by a low beeping that echoed throughout the whole area.

“Shit,” said Thomas, looking around.

“ _ Questa è un'esercitazione _ ,” intoned a bland voice. “ _ Attenzione. Questa è un'esercitazione. _ ”

“It’s just a drill,” said Rhys, a split-second before Bucky managed to translate the Italian for himself.

Clint shook his head. “It won’t stay a drill for long, not once they find the guys we knocked out.”

“We need to get out before then,” said Bucky. “Come on.” He pulled his gun out and went first, ducking out into the corridor, which remained quiet. Apparently the drill didn’t involve anyone coming up here.

On the other side of the security doors, the guards they’d knocked out, gagged and tied up were still lying there, although one of them had woken up enough to glare angrily at them. Bucky gave him a grin as he went past.

When he got to the stairs, he could see a lot of movement in the warehouse.

“Shit,” muttered Clint, glancing down at the Hydra troops forming up on the ground floor of the warehouse for what looked like a roll call.

There were wide gantries across the warehouse that stretched from the stairs they were on to another flight in the opposite corner. As Bucky watched, doors started opening on all floors as agents emerged and started heading downstairs to the muster.

There was the clank of footsteps above them and Bucky saw soldiers starting to head down the stairs from the floor above them.

Fuck. There was no way they’d pass this floor without noticing the downed guards. Even if they dragged them into hiding, they’d notice that there wasn’t anyone here when there should be.

“We need to get out of here fast,” muttered Clint, and Bucky nodded. Their only chance was to get down the stairs and to the door out of the warehouse without being noticed. It was a fucking slim chance, but if this ended with a shoot out, he’d much rather they were on the ground floor where they could get out another door or a window if it came to it.

They didn’t even make it down one flight of stairs. Across the warehouse, someone noticed their movement and that they weren’t in Hydra uniforms, and let out a shout of alarm in Italian. There was a moment of confusion in which every Hydra agent in the place turned to look at them, then there were more shouts and a smatter of gunfire that mostly bounced off the stair rail.

“Okay, this is bad,” said Clint, as every agent that had been gathered on the warehouse floor ran for the bottom of the staircase they were on. Bucky glanced up, but there were enough agents above them for that to be a bad idea as well, especially as there would be no exit strategy once they got to the top.

“Across to the other side,” he said, because there were far fewer agents on the other staircase. He started firing as they sprinted across the gantry, taking care to take out the agent who had sounded the alarm first. Clint was shooting as well, his aim just as good running full-tilt with a gun as it was when he stood calmly at the range with his bow. Rhys and Thomas were sending off scattered shots as well, but they clearly had less practice with making every shot count even when everyone was in motion.

The Hydra agents didn’t have that problem. Half of them were still running towards them, but the others had stopped in order to take better aim, sending bullets flying around them as they ran in full view right across the middle of the warehouse. A shot pinged off Bucky’s metal arm and he wondered how the hell they were going to avoid getting gunned down, even given what bad shots Hydra were.

He was at the front of the group, with Thomas and Rhys just behind him and Clint bringing up the rear, so he started zig-zagging as much as he could on a narrow gantry to make himself harder to hit. He was desperately trying to remember the lay-out of the base on this side, trying to remember if there was an exit other than the main entrance or the loading bay at the back of the warehouse.

Fuck it, there were windows they could smash to get out. The main goal right now was to get somewhere more sheltered.

The beeping alarm was still sounding, along with the voice telling everyone that this was just a drill, but Bucky didn’t think anyone was believing it at this point.

Clint yelled something from behind in Welsh and a surge of irritation ran through Bucky. “English would be more helpful!” he shouted back.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Thomas surged past him. “He was talking to me,” he said, moving in front of Bucky as if to protect him, which, what? Bucky and Clint were the only ones in body armour, and Bucky was the only one with super-soldier serum of any kind. If anyone should be risking getting shot, it was him.

He didn’t have time to argue though, because they were reaching the other side of the gantry and there was a unit of Hydra agents waiting for them, half of them kneeling in front of the others so that they all had a good shot and, seriously, how the hell had none of them been shot yet?

Thomas hefted his axe above his head and let out a bellowing yell that might have been Welsh or might just have been noise, and threw himself right into the midst of them, swinging around his axe and laying agents out left and right.

Bucky had no idea how Thomas had managed to avoid being shot, but he didn't have time to think about it now. He dropped to the floor and threw himself into a slide so that he hit the Hydra agents much lower than where their guns were aimed, shooting two of them before he got close enough for hand-to-hand fighting, moving as fast as he could to keep himself from becoming an easy target.

There were only a handful of agents blocking their route down the stairs, but Bucky was all too aware that there were more coming across the gantry behind them. They needed to get down the stairs before they got across, or they’d get trapped between two groups.

Rhys was swinging his sword nearby, cutting down Hydra agents who had clearly never been trained to defend themselves against medieval weaponry. Clint was close as well, sending an agent flying over the railing with a kick.

“The way is clear!” shouted Thomas and Bucky spun as he punched an agent to see that he had cleared a path to the top of the stairs. He glanced at Clint to make sure he could make it, then started that way himself, sweeping the legs out from under another agent as he went.

The footsteps thunking across metal came to an abrupt stop and a bullet thundered into Bucky’s body armour. Bucky lurched from the force of it as a voice shouted something in Italian, then repeated it in English.

“Hold still or the next one will cripple you!”

Bucky held still. A Hydra agent whose uniform proclaimed him to be in charge was at the end of the gantry, his men lined up behind him and all their guns aimed at Bucky.

“Winter Soldier,” he said with an element of gloating that meant he didn’t know just how dangerous Bucky was. “You have come back to us. We will recondition you and then, together, we will rebuild Hydra to its former glory!”

Clint snorted. “Like fuck you will,” he said, then sent Bucky a look that told him to brace himself. Bucky's hand tightened on his gun just as Clint started moving, sprinting forwards to throw himself at the commander, shooting two other agents on the way. He hit the commander at full speed and didn’t even try to check his momentum as they both tumbled over the gantry's railing.

Bucky had started moving the moment all the agents were distracted by Clint, shooting at the other agents on the gantry. His heart stopped in his chest as Clint fell, but he didn't let himself stop moving, even if he couldn’t stop himself from screaming Clint’s name, as if that would do a damn thing to help. 

Behind him, he could hear Rhys and Thomas hacking down the last couple of agents still coming down the stairs. By the time they were done, Bucky had taken out the last of the agents on the gantry.

He looked over the railing where Clint had fallen, heart in his mouth. The drop to the concrete floor of the warehouse was at least two floors, more than enough to dash someone's brains in, or smash up their insides, or…

Clint was carefully sitting up, one arm draped around his chest. The commander lay next to him, very clearly dead.

“Hey,” called Clint, waving up at Bucky. “I’m okay.”

He wouldn't be once Bucky got his hands on him.

He wasn’t interested in waiting for that. He hopped over the railing, letting himself fall and absorbing the impact with his knees.

“You fucking idiot!” he shouted at Clint. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Hey!” said Clint, carefully standing up. “You just did the exact same thing.”

“I’m a goddamned super-soldier!” yelled Bucky. “I spent years being shot up with all kindsa chemicals just so I could jump off shit and not get hurt! You’re just a normal guy!” He kicked at the corpse of the Hydra commander. “Like this guy, look how well that worked out for him!”

Clint winced. “I’m not that normal,” he said, but Bucky wasn’t listening. A bullet whizzed past him and he grabbed Clint’s elbow, dragging him back behind a shelving unit.

“If you get shot I’m gonna be so pissed,” he snapped.

Rhys and Thomas came pelting down the stairs. “We need to get out now!” shouted Rhys.

Bucky nodded and started for the door that led to the opposite side of the U to where they’d come in, keeping a firm hold of Clint in case he decided to try and kill himself some other way.

There were no agents on the other side of the door, probably because they’d all been in the warehouse. Bucky kicked open the first door off the corridor to find a cafeteria with a wide window that looked out on the perimeter fence. That would do.

He had to let go of Clint to punch the glass in, sending it shattering over the ground. There was no point in being stealthy, not with the alarm still going off, although someone had finally shut off the voice informing everyone that it was a drill.

“There may be snipers on the roof, hang on,” said Clint, and jumped through the window before Bucky could stop him.

“Get back here!” he snapped, moving to head after the asshole before he got himself shot.

Thomas grabbed his arm. “Wait, he knows what he’s doing.”

Bucky gave him a gobsmacked look. “How long have you known him? Of course he doesn’t fucking know what he’s doing! He never does!”

“Oh, he knows our Gwion, all right,” muttered Rhys, looking out the window after Clint.

Clint had made it over the fence and was just standing in the street, looking up at the roof. Shots rattled down towards him and Bucky flinched, waiting to see him crumple, but somehow the Hydra snipers managed to miss the stationary and blindingly obvious target he made.

Clint raised his own gun and made three careful shots. The sniper fire abruptly cut off and he looked back through the window with a grin. “All clear!”

Bucky shook Thomas’s grip off and vaulted out of the window, then over the fence so that he could grab Clint’s shoulders and give him a shake. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Clint’s grin didn’t dim. “Chill, I’m fine.” He looked over Bucky’s shoulder at Thomas and Rhys. “We all are.”

“A miracle,” said Thomas with heavy sarcasm.

“We should split up to get back to the hotel,” said Rhys, glancing back at the base. Bucky saw the cafeteria door open as the Hydra agents started to catch up with them. He started moving, pushing Clint towards the nearest alleyway.

“Agreed,” he said, over his shoulder, “but I’m not leaving this idiot alone to jump into any more gunfire. We’ll see you in his room.”

“I’m not–” started Clint, but Bucky wasn’t interested in excuses.

“Shut up,” he said. “We need to lose these assholes before we have this argument.”

Clint sighed, but he was jogging at Bucky’s side as they ducked down another alley. “It doesn’t need to be an argument,” he muttered.

It really fucking did. Bucky’s heart was still thumping in his chest from terror, he couldn’t let Clint think it was okay to sacrifice himself for some stupid archeology artefact, no matter how important. Nothing was more important than Clint’s life.


	3. Chapter 3

Rhys and Thomas were back at the hotel room waiting for them when Clint and Bucky got back, but that didn't stop Bucky pushing Clint back against the wall the instant they were inside.

“What’s it going to take to stop you taking insane risks?!”

Clint had spent the whole way back to the hotel trying to come up with a way to diffuse this argument before it happened, but he’d drawn a blank. He didn't even know how he was going to get through it without pissing Bucky off more than he already had.

He stayed relaxed against the wall, glancing at Rhys and Thomas over Bucky's shoulder. “Hey guys, mind giving us a minute?”

“We are comfortable here,” said Thomas, settling more firmly back against the pillows he had piled up on Clint’s bed.

Bucky gave Clint a rough shake. “Concentrate, asshole,” he growled.

Usually being pushed up against a wall and growled at by Bucky would be the best part of Clint's day, but he was all too sickeningly aware that there was no way to explain this to him.

He still had to try, though.

“I was never in any danger,” he tried. “And look, I came out of it unscathed. We all did.”

“Not for want of trying,” said Bucky. “Fuck, Clint, I get finding this cauldron is important to you, but you can't sacrifice yourself for it.”

It hadn't been the cauldron Clint had been thinking about when he'd seen that Hydra fucker threatening Bucky with his worst nightmare and decided the fall would be worth it, but he didn't think pointing that out was going to help right now.

“I won't let you,” added Bucky, and he was still doing the angry growl that Clint definitely shouldn't find as sexy as he did.

“Bucky, seriously,” he tried. “I’m fine. I knew I’d be fine.”

“While playing Peekaboo with fucking Hydra snipers?” asked Bucky. Oh yeah, there was that as well. “No fucking way that should have ended well.” He finally stepped back from Clint, running his hands through his hair with frustration. “How the fuck can I go into combat with you if I can't trust you to even  _ try _ and keep yourself alive?”

Clint didn’t know how to answer that without either meaningless platitudes or breaking centuries-old promises. “I’m not looking to die,” he tried.

“Coulda fooled me,” snapped Bucky.

“<You should tell him>,” said Thomas in Welsh, then repeated himself in English. “You should tell him. He deserves to know the truth.”

Clint stared at him. “I gave my word,” he reminded him. “To you, if you’ll remember.”

“And me,” said Rhys, as if Clint could forget that asshole being there.

Thomas shrugged. “That was several ages ago. Many of the reasons we had then no longer apply. Besides, we swore to keep the truth to those who are on the quest for the cauldron. Bucky is on that quest as well, now. How can we expect him to make the best decisions in a combat situation if he doesn't have all the information? When we get to Norway, we’ll have hampered ourselves if he doesn't know.”

“Know what?” asked Bucky. 

Clint ignored him in favour of looking at Rhys, hope rising up in his chest. If he could tell Bucky now, he could stop putting everything on hold until they got the cauldron. He’d find out if Bucky could cope with it all, if he still wanted Clint with all his secrets laid bare, so that he could be sure that he’d get that second chance at dating him that he was desperately hoping for.

He’d also derail this argument before Bucky got even more pissed.

Rhys gave him a steady look back, frowning slightly before turning to Thomas. “<And if we don’t find the cauldron, and it stays lost another thousand years?>” he asked in Welsh.

“<Then we will have far more to worry about than another person knowing our secret>,” said Thomas. “<You surely don’t think that a man who has lived nearly a century and is friends with the god of thunder will condemn us as witches?>”

Rhys sighed and looked back at Clint, who gave him his best puppy eyes. Bucky shifted his weight with impatience but didn't say anything, clearly waiting for the same outcome that Clint was.

Rhys sighed. “I release you from your promise, Gwion,” he said. “I pray none of us regrets it.”

Clint grinned at him. “Definitely not. Thomas is right. The era of being accused of witchcraft is over.”

“What?” asked Bucky, then shook his head and looked back at Clint. “You can’t distract me by telling me your secrets if it means you won’t swear not to put yourself in danger again.”

“I was never in danger,” said Clint. He took a deep breath, wondering if he should have spent some time trying to work out the best way to tell Bucky this over the last couple of weeks, rather than just daydreaming about getting to kiss him. Eh, it was probably a ripping-off-a-band-aid kinda thing. “The six of us were cursed with immortality. We can’t die, and we don’t get any older.”

Bucky stared at him, his mouth dropping open with surprise. “What?”

“Look, we stole the cauldron from a shrine, and the druid or priest, or whatever you want to call him, cursed us to live until we brought it back,” said Clint. “It doesn’t matter how many Hydra agents shoot at me, or how many floors I jump from, I can’t die. Something always gets in the way to stop it. A lucky landing on a Hydra guy to break my fall, somehow no one manages to aim straight, doesn’t matter. We always come out alive.”

“Even when we’re trying really hard not to,” said Thomas, heavily. “Nooses unravel, blades break, the sea refuses to drown you and just pushes you back to shore… There is no way for us to end it. Not until we return the cauldron.”

Bucky turned to stare at him, then back at Clint. He blinked rapidly, then threw his hands up in the air. “What the hell?”

Okay, so it was going to take a while for this to sink in.

“No,  _ seriously _ , what the  _ hell _ ?” repeated Bucky, staring at Clint with a crazed look. “ _ Immortality _ ?”

“Yeah,” said Clint, then offered a shrug, because there wasn’t much he could say to soften that weirdass revelation.

“You’re seriously telling me that you’re immortal?” said Bucky. Clint nodded, and Bucky looked around to turn his disbelieving look on Rhys and Thomas, who both nodded as well. Bucky took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said quietly, then he straightened up, settling his shoulders. “Okay, if we’re going with that, then why the fuck would you even want to get the cauldron back?”

Clint couldn’t hold in the bitter snort. “I’da thought you’d get that, Mr Nonagenarian,” he said. “We don’t age either, you know. We’re just stuck, watching the people we care about growing old and dying, watching the world change around us until nothing looks familiar, having to leave everything behind when people start talking about how youthful you look so that you don’t end up being surrounded by an angry mob who think you’re a witch or a devil-worshiper or something. If we get the cauldron back, we’ll grow old and pass on like everyone else. We’ll get to just live one life until we die.”

Bucky’s stare had morphed into a frown. “Witches? I don’t… How long has it been?” His frown deepened. “You’re older than me?”

“Yeah,” said Clint, finding a wry smile. He couldn’t stop his eyes from tracking over Bucky’s face, looking for signs that he was going to freak out completely and run, or tell Clint he wanted nothing more to do with him, or… Clint didn’t know. He imagined there were a lot of bad ways to react to this kind of shock. “A lot older. We stole the cauldron in the sixth century. Can’t give an exact date because I wasn’t really keeping track back then and the calendars have moved around a bit since.”

He braced himself, because that felt like the hardest bit for Bucky to get his head around. A man out of time by seventy years was one thing. A guy who had been hanging around for over fifteen hundred was quite another.

“You’re… fuck,” said Bucky, running a hand through his hair, then whirling to look at Thomas and Rhys, who were still sitting on the bed although both looked a lot tenser than before. “All of you?”

“Yes,” said Rhys. “All six of us.”

“It has been a very long time,” said Thomas, heavily. “Do you see now why we are so eager to find the cauldron?” He took a deep breath. “I am so tired,” he added, in a low, heartfelt voice. “I just want to rest.”

Bucky was still staring. Clint carefully straightened up from against the wall and took a step closer. “This is why I couldn’t tell you so many things,” he said. “And why I haven’t let myself have a relationship for so long. It gets to a point and I have to duck out on my life or risk being found out. Doing that if I was with someone would be a dick move.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m– fuck. I need a moment to get my head around this.” He looked up and caught Clint with a glare. “You’re not fucking with me, right?”

Clint snorted. “How the hell else do you explain that we ran right through that warehouse with Hydra firing from all sides, and yet no one got shot? Why do you think I got Thomas to move in front of you? You were the only one who was actually vulnerable.” Which was why it had been so scary to see that Hydra ass pointing a gun at him. Clint would happily fall from any height, even if he hated the heart-stopping moment of terror that came from freefall, if it meant Bucky was okay.

Bucky looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Guess it doesn’t sound like something you’d come up with as a prank.”

“There is nothing funny about this situation,” said Thomas.

Clint sent him a pointed look, and he patted Rhys’s knee and stood up. “We shall leave you to it.”

Rhys stood up as well, with more reluctance. “And tomorrow we’re going to Norway,” he said. “No more waiting around. We get to that base and we get the cauldron.”

Clint nodded. “Agreed.”

“The others will want to join us,” said Thomas. “I will contact them.”

“Tell them to meet us there in a couple of days,” said Clint. “That should be enough time for travel arrangements.”

“We have the quinjet,” Bucky pointed out. “Are they in Europe? We can pick them up on the way.”

“They are in Spain and Dublin,” said Thomas. “And I think Llyw is somewhere in Germany.”

“You’re not heading back to New York?” asked Clint.

Bucky shook his head. “No, I’m seeing this out. I’ll tell Steve… something. I don’t know, I’ll call him tomorrow.”

He was starting to scowl in a way that meant he was probably feeling overwhelmed, so Clint just nodded, then sent Thomas a pointed look that had him hustling Rhys out of the door with a cheerful, “Nos da!”

When the door had shut behind them, Clint looked back at Bucky. “If you have any questions, I promise I’ll answer them,” he said. “No more secrets.”

Bucky let out a long sigh, then shook his head. “Not right now,” he said. “I think I’m gonna have a shower and then, maybe. I just… shit, Clint, how the fuck have you lived through that much history?”

Clint cracked a weak smile. “One day at a time,” he said, sounding weary even to himself.

Bucky snorted, then went into the bathroom. Clint let himself slump, then collapsed onto the bed. Fuck, he really should have spent some time working out how you tell someone that you’re an immortal medieval thief.

  
  


**** 

  
  


Clint took a shower after Bucky. When he got out, Bucky was stretched out on the bed in a t-shirt and some sweatpants he must have borrowed from Clint’s backpack, with his feet bare and his damp hair curling around his face. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was frowning up at the ceiling. Clint had to pause a moment to appreciate just how hot he was.

Fuck, he really hoped Bucky was going to be able to get past the over-a-thousand-years-old thing and still want to date Clint.

Bucky turned his head to frown at Clint instead of the ceiling. “When were you in Brooklyn, riding the Cyclone every day?”

“It was the thirties,” admitted Clint. “I was there six or seven years, then went to France and joined their army, because I could tell where things were going and I wanted to be on the front line.” He managed a weak smile. “And then the front line got rolled right over and I ended up behind enemy lines, hiding out and sabotaging shit until the liberation.”

Bucky shook his head. “Fuck,” he muttered. “How the hell were we so close, but missed each other?”

Clint shrugged. “Brooklyn’s not exactly tiny,” he pointed out, moving away from the bathroom to settle on the end of the bed. He should probably go for one of the chairs instead so that Bucky didn’t feel crowded, but he didn’t want to be that far away from him. Not when he still didn't know whether or not this was enough to put Bucky off going on a date with him.

Bucky shook his head. “Small enough,” he muttered, then sighed and looked back at the ceiling. Clint looked at his feet and thought about cupping his hand around one ankle, and then clenched his hands instead.

“Did you fight in both world wars?” Bucky asked next.

Clint nodded. “Yeah. Both world wars, the Napoleonic wars, the war of 1812, the hundred years war, wars against the Ottoman empire, Mongol invaders, the French, the Spanish, the Scottish, fucking Vikings… The English a lot, back in the early days. Seems like there’s always a place for a soldier to go.”

Bucky sat up and reached out to take Clint’s hand, wrapping his fingers around his clenched fist. “I’m sorry. No one should see that much combat.”

Clint opened his hand to interlace his fingers with Bucky’s, keeping his eyes on their joined hands. “There was good stuff mixed in,” he said. “I spent most of the sixties just wandering around the country joining in with all the hippy shit going on, and then I went to San Francisco and lived in the Castro when the gay movement was new and exciting, especially for a gay guy who’d endured centuries of repression and being told it was a mortal sin just to be who I am.”

“There’s nothing wrong with who you are,” said Bucky, in a rough voice. Clint finally found the courage to look up at his face to see he had his eyes fixed on Clint as if he didn’t even want to lose sight of him for the length of a blink.

Oh fuck, Clint was still going to get this. His heart leapt in his chest and he squeezed tighter at Bucky’s hand. “I’m going to take you out as soon as we get back to New York,” he promised. “Somewhere fucking awesome, I don’t know where yet but I guess Tony knows somewhere good.”

Bucky smiled. “Doesn’t need to be fancy, just needs to have you there,” he said. “We can go eat pickled herring on a beach in Norway if you want.”

Clint shook his head. “We’re not hanging about in Norway. If we get the cauldron, we’re getting it to Wales as soon as possible. I’m not risking something going wrong before this fucking curse is lifted.”

“And then you’ll come back?” asked Bucky. “To the Avengers?”

Clint nodded. “Hell yeah. Being Clint Barton has been the best life I’ve had in, fuck. In centuries, probably, maybe even in forever. If this is the one I get to live until the end, then I couldn’t have picked a better one.”

“Good,” said Bucky. He gave Clint’s hand a tug, pulling him closer. “Then the rest of your life story can wait for later. Let’s get some sleep before we have to go flying all over Europe to pick up medieval Welsh guys.”

Clint looked at the single bed in the room and then back at the look on Bucky’s face that wasn’t quite a question, and nodded. “Good idea,” he said, and moved to pull the covers out so that they could both climb under.

Once they were settled, Bucky crept a cautious arm around Clint’s waist that Clint moved into, smiling to himself with satisfaction as Bucky took that as a sign to wrap around him like an octopus. He reached up and turned out the light and Bucky let out a quiet, relaxed sigh that made a warm wave of pure happiness pass through Clint’s body. 

“Can’t believe you were in fucking Brooklyn in the thirties,” Bucky muttered.

Clint laughed. “Most of the time I was there, you’da been a bit young for me,” he pointed out. 

“You’re over a thousand years old,” said Bucky. “I still am.”

“True,” agreed Clint. “Guess I’ll have to wait until Thor next comes over from Asgard for someone in my age range.”

Bucky’s arm tightened around his waist. “Not a fucking chance,” he said. “You’re mine now, cradle-snatcher.”

“I think I can live with that,” said Clint, trying not to grin too hard into the darkness.

  
  


**** 

  
  


When he woke up to morning light coming through the curtains, Bucky’s arm was still draped around him. Bucky was clearly already awake because his hand was slowly gliding up and down Clint’s side, smoothing over his skin.

“Mmmm,” breathed Clint, turning over to smile at Bucky. “I could get used to waking up like this.”

Bucky hesitated for an instant, then gave a half-hearted shrug. “Well, I did offer. Coulda had it for a few months already.”

Okay, that was probably a fair comment, even if it did make Clint want to wince. There was a note in Bucky’s voice that he didn’t like, a smothered-over vulnerability that said he still wasn’t able to completely trust that Clint wanted this after the mess he’d made of it before. Clint was going to have to work at making how he felt about Bucky very clear to him.

“If I’d known we’d get anywhere this close to the cauldron, I’d have been in your bed every night you’d let me,” he said.

Bucky’s smile swept away any trace of his uncertainty. “You still owe me dinner,” he reminded Clint.

“Yup,” agreed Clint. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. I’m gonna wine and dine you, make sure you get all the fancy treatment you deserve.”

“I told you, I don’t need fancy,” said Bucky, tugging Clint closer into his arms. “Just need you to stay close.”

“I will definitely be doing that,” agreed Clint, shifting so that he could press his face into Bucky’s shoulder and breathe in the sleep-warmed smell of him. “I was going to miss you so much,” he let himself admit. “I’m so glad I don’t have to now.”

There was a knock at the door, then it burst open before either of them could respond and Thomas came bounding in. “Up!” he announced, clapping his hands. “Get up! You can save the romance for later. Today we get back the cauldron and our lives!”

Rhys followed him in and gave them a look of mingled disgust and impatience. “You’re wasting time.”

Clint gave him the smuggest grin he could manage, which was pretty damn smug right now with Bucky’s arms around him, and snuggled in further. “No time spent with the person you love is ever truly wasted.”

Bucky twitched around him. Oh right, Clint hadn’t actually mentioned that part yet, but he must have guessed, surely? Clint hadn’t exactly been subtle.

Rhys made an infuriated noise. “Get up,” he said. “Griff and Ifor are waiting for us.”

“Not Llyw?” asked Clint, pulling away to sit up because as much as he enjoyed pissing Rhys off, he really did want to get on and finish this already.

Thomas shook his head. “Your brother hasn’t answered my messages.”

What a surprise, Llywelyn was being unreliable. Clint pulled his phone off the bedside table and dialed his number. It went to voicemail, but he’d been expecting that.

“Get your ass in gear, brawd, we know where they took the cauldron. If you want in on taking the place down, give us your location or get to Norway in the next six hours, or we’ll be completing this mission without you.”

He hung up and dropped his phone on the bed. “He’s such an ass,” he muttered.

Thomas laughed. “We all are,” he said and, Jesus, Clint hadn’t seen Thomas this happy without a drink in his hand in centuries. He wasn’t sure he could handle it this early in the morning.

“We’ll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes,” he said, which thankfully got them to fuck off again, at least for now.

He took a moment before turning to look at Bucky, who had also sat up at some time and was giving him a closed look that didn’t make Clint feel any better about letting the full scale of how he felt drop out of his mouth like that.

“Uh,” he started, then realised he didn’t know where to go with it. The last thing he wanted to do was to apologise for this, even if he really could have managed to tell Bucky in a less trainwreck manner.

“I’ve loved you since you bought that dartboard,” said Bucky quietly, and it was like a lightning bolt down Clint’s spine.

“Oh,” he managed a little breathlessly. He’d bought that dartboard ages ago, back when he’d been kidding himself that he could be friends with Bucky without it slowly crushing his heart. Fuck.

Bucky looked at him for a moment longer, than grabbed his own phone off the nightstand. “I need to text Steve.”

“Sure,” said Clint, feeling light-headed. “Okay.”

He took a minute to just breathe, then forced himself out of bed. If they were slow he was pretty sure Rhys and Thomas would be back up to harass them and besides, getting the cauldron was only becoming even more important. Clint wanted to grow old with the man he loved, after all.

He was pulling on his pants when Bucky’s phone rang, about thirty seconds after he’d sent his text. Bucky sighed as he looked at it.

“Such a fusspot,” he muttered, then answered. “Hey, Steve.” He rolled his eyes at Clint, who grinned back. “Yeah, that’s what the text said... Because I’ve got stuff to do... Okay, okay, yeah.  _ We’ve _ got stuff to do... Jesus, no, get your mind out of the gutter, we’re going on a trip. Like a mini-break, I guess... No, that’s, no. Stop, Steve, just stop.” He glanced over at Clint again, then gave him a mischievous smirk. “His name is Unbelievable Hotass.”

Clint snorted as whatever Steve said in response was enough to make Bucky’s grin grow wider.

“Look, I’m gonna be back some time tomorrow, you can interrogate me then,” Bucky said to Steve. “Right now, I’m in bed with a sexy shirtless guy looking at me, so I don’t really have time. Bye, Steve, I hope your day is half as good as mine’s gonna be.” He hung up and gave Clint another smirk.

Clint had been about to pull a clean shirt on, but he paused to give Bucky bedroom eyes. “I could leave the shirt off for now, if you want.”

Bucky ran his eyes over Clint’s chest with a heated look that made Clint feel flushed. “As much as I’d enjoy that, it might distract me from the goal of taking out Hydra.”

“Don’t say I didn’t offer,” said Clint, giving him a wink and trying not to let the electric feeling of joy at how easy it felt to finally allow himself to flirt with Bucky like this distract him from the ticking clock.

Fuck, the cauldron better be at this base. He couldn’t stand another disappointment like the one in Austria. If they hit another empty box and he had to spend another few months going around Hydra bases hunting for information before he could take Bucky to dinner, he was going to need to destroy something to make himself feel better.

It hadn’t escaped his attention that for all their flirting and confessions of feelings, and even after spending all night cuddled up together, they still hadn’t kissed. Clint was waiting for Bucky to feel ready to make that move, because after all the shit he’d put the guy through, the least he could do was let him make that decision.

He just really hoped it was soon. He hadn’t taken advantage of being able to kiss Bucky as much as he should have when they’d been having sex before because he’d been trying to tell himself that it was all casual and desperately trying to maintain a boundary that, if he were being honest, had never really been there. He’d been pretty gone on Bucky long before that first post-mission blowjob, and getting closer to him had only made that worse.

Now that all the bullshit had been swept away, he just wanted to make out with the guy until his lips were numb. Was that too much to ask?

  
  


**** 

  
  


Bucky had hidden the quinjet in a stand of trees at the back of one of the hills that surrounded Aosta. Stepping on board felt like coming home in a way that Clint hadn’t anticipated and he felt himself relax at the realisation that, if everything went as planned today, he’d be able to get back to this life very soon.

“You want to fly?” Bucky offered, looking at Clint’s face as if he knew what he was feeling.

Clint beamed at him. “I would fucking love to,” he said, and headed straight for the pilot’s chair.

“Don’t crash us,” said Rhys.

“What does it matter if he does?” asked Thomas. “We’d survive.”

“I wouldn’t,” muttered Bucky.

“Also,” Clint felt the need to point out, “I’ve been flying these things for eight years and have only crashed twice, both times while I was being shot at.”

Rhys put his seatbelt on with a pointed snap. “Twice is still two more times than I’m comfortable with.”

Asshole.

Griff lived in Valencia, but he’d driven up to the mountains so that they could pick him up without a crowd of Spaniards and tourists staring at them.

“<This is a step up from the grumpy mule we had back in the day,>” he said in Welsh as he came on board. He blinked when he caught sight of Bucky and then gave him a wide grin. “Oh, hey, you must be Bucky Barnes,” he said in English with a heavy Spanish accent, holding his hand out. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Lorenzo Perez.”

Bucky shook his hand with a snort. “Sure,” he said. “Lorenzo. That seems legit for a fifteen-hundred-year-old Welsh guy.”

Griff blinked then glanced at Rhys. “<You told him?>”

“<Gwion did. I was talked into allowing it,>” said Rhys, glaring at Thomas. Clint took a moment to enjoy not being the one in trouble, for once.

Griff looked back at Bucky. “Then I suppose you may call me Griff,” he said, dropping the Spanish accent.

“Yeah, that seems more likely,” said Bucky. “Good to meet you.”

Clint pushed the button to close the quinjet door. “Everyone strap in. Next stop: Ireland.”

Bucky came back up to the co-pilot’s chair. “He didn't seem that bothered that you’d broken your precious vow,” he said quietly as he put on his seatbelt.

“Well, yeah,” said Clint. “That’s Griff. He’s the nicest of us. Ifor, on the other hand, will be  _ pissed _ .”

“Ifor’s always pissed about something,” said Griff from behind them. “Usually Llywelyn.”

“Who still hasn't been in contact,” said Thomas. “We will be storming this castle without him.”

“He’ll turn up,” said Griff.

Clint snorted as they reached cruising height and he was able to switch to autopilot. “Sure. Like a bad penny.”

Ifor was waiting for them in a secluded valley about an hour away from Dublin. He was already scowling as he came aboard and his face only grew darker when he caught sight of Bucky. He turned it on Rhys rather than Clint, though, so Clint concentrated on taking off again and plotting a flight path to Norway.

“I know,” said Rhys, tiredly. “He seems to be one of us now.”

“<Fucking gatecrashers>,” muttered Ifor in Welsh.

Bucky had tensed up so Clint put a hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze.

“Told you he was an ass,” he muttered to him, then cleared his throat and said louder, “Hey, Ifor, this is Bucky, who has kindly agreed to help us take on a base full of armed terrorists, do you want to maybe show some gratitude?”

Ifor gave a derisive snort and didn’t bother replying, which was what Clint had expected. Still, he’d got him to shut up, which was all he wanted for the moment.

“I wish I’d known we’d relaxed the ‘let’s avoid getting hanged as witches’ rule,” said Griff cheerfully, ignoring the tension as Ifor slumped down into a seat. “There’s people I might have mentioned it to.”

“Hanged?” repeated Bucky before Rhys could start in on a lecture about why they shouldn’t be ‘mentioning’ anything to anyone. He turned to frown at Clint with the look he usually reserved for Steve jumping out of a plane without a parachute. “Seriously?”

Oh great, apparently Clint was going to get into trouble for every time he’d ended up in a shitty situation for the last millennium and a half. He’d just have to do his best to play it off as nothing. After all, it hadn’t even happened to him.

Well, not the time Griff was talking about, anyway.

“Yeah, we made the promise to never tell anyone after we had to rescue Thomas from the medieval equivalent of death row,” he said.

“Let me tell you that if a lynch mob believes you are in league with the devil, it does not make them any happier to find they can’t hang you without the rope snapping or the knot unravelling,” said Thomas.

“That was only a couple of years after that village tried to stone Gwion,” Rhys said, because he was an ass who apparently wanted to get Clint into trouble. “We needed to be better at hiding our immortality.”

Clint winced at the reminder. That had been a bit of a low point, and exactly the story he hadn’t wanted Bucky to find out about. Bucky turned a glare on him as if Clint had asked those villagers to try to beat the devil out of him.

“They couldn't hit me with anything bigger than a grape,” Clint said quickly, because it really felt like Bucky could do with a reminder about the whole ‘immortal’ thing. “It was like being in a fairly pathetic hailstorm. Plus they didn’t really think I was a witch, they were just pissed because they thought I’d seduced the miller, which was bullshit. If anyone was doing the seducing, it was definitely him.”

Bucky’s frown lasted a moment longer before he clearly decided not to get worked up about something that happened nearly a thousand years ago. Thank fuck. 

“Having experienced your attempts at flirting, I can definitely believe that,” he said instead.

“Hey!” protested Clint, although Bucky probably had a point. Having to keep his sexuality a secret until only a few decades ago hadn't exactly honed his chat-up lines, not when they all had to double as something completely innocent in case he’d got the signals wrong.

“No, he makes a good point,” said Thomas. “I remember your initial attempts with that groom in the Lord of Gower’s service.”

God, that had been a very long time ago, when both he and Thomas had worked at Swansea Castle for a decade or so, before they’d all decided it was better not to create lives alongside each other. It was too easy to make a slip-up when you were with someone else who had the same secret.

“William,” Clint remembered, thinking back to the dark-eyed guy he’d followed around the back of the stables whenever he could. “I succeeded with him in the end. We had a good couple of years together.”

“Yes,” agreed Thomas. “And then we had to move on and leave him behind, and you pined for a decade.”

Clint didn’t want to remember that. He’d loved William, and he was fairly certain William had loved him, although they’d never talked about it. It had been enough to just be together. 

And then he’d had to leave him behind without explanation. God, that had hurt, just as it had hurt with Patrick and John and Louis and so many others before he’d forced himself to stick to casual sex only.

Until Bucky.

Bucky rested his hand over Clint's on his knee and gave it a squeeze. “How long until we reach the base?” he asked, and Clint was so grateful for the change of subject that he nearly kissed him.

Nope, not until Bucky made a move.

“A couple of hours,” he said. “We’ll need to find somewhere out of the way to set down to keep the element of surprise.”

“There’ll be a fjord or something,” said Griff. “You can count on Norway to have fjords.”

“Pining for the fjords,” said Thomas with an amused snort.

“Not yet,” said Clint, “but we’ll all get our chance to be ex-parrots soon enough.”

He glanced at Bucky, but the joke had clearly gone over his head. Well, there was something to catch up on once they were both back home at the Tower.

  
  


**** 

  
  


The Hydra base was an ugly concrete fortress built partially into a cliff. It looked like it had been part of the Norwegian coastal defences during the Second World War, before Hydra got their hands on it. 

Clint found a place the other side of a rocky ridge to set the quinjet down. “It’ll be about a mile’s walk,” he said as everyone unclipped their belts and started to stretch after the flight.

“The views will be nice,” commented Thomas.

Bucky pulled open a locker and smiled at the explosives inside. “Not once we’re done,” he said, pulling some C4 out.

“You’re going to blow it up?” asked Clint, opening the locker that Natasha kept spare weaponry in and helping himself.

Bucky turned to give him a pointed look. “How many Hydra bases have I been in over the last few weeks that I  _ haven’t _ blown up? I need to blow this one or I’ll lose my reputation.” He turned back to the locker to tuck a couple of grenades into the pouches on his tac vest. “Besides, you can’t tell me that you don’t want to see it reduced to rubble, whether or not the cauldron’s still there.”

Clint considered. “Yeah, okay.”

“No blowing anything up until we have it, or we’re completely sure it’s not there,” said Rhys, holding his hand out to Clint for a gun.

“Of course not,” said Clint, handing out handguns to everyone and hoping like hell that Natasha didn’t find out about this while he was in range of her fists. “Beat some evil medieval researchers up, grab the cauldron, blow the place up, be home in time for tea.”

“I have no idea why anyone thinks you’re bad at plans,” said Thomas, slapping his back. “That sounds perfect.”

Clint grinned at him as he closed the locker, then glanced at Bucky. “Ready?”

Bucky was hung about with weaponry but he still hesitated for a moment, staring at the few bits he hadn’t been able to fit on himself with longing. “Yeah, okay,” he said, shutting his locker with regret.

God, Clint really loved how much Bucky loved weapons, and how good he looked when he was all decked out for combat, all hardcore and powerful like he could fuck anybody up without drawing a sweat.

Okay, so mostly he just really loved Bucky.

“Oh, hey,” he added, looking around at the other Welshmen. “Remember that Bucky’s not immortal, so get in between him and any gunfire if you can, okay?”

Bucky let out a long sigh. “I’m not exactly a wilting flower,” he said. “I’ve killed way more Hydra agents than anyone else here has, and it’s not like I can’t shake off being shot, most of the time.”

“Sure, honey,” said Clint, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they all headed off the quinjet. “Just, you know. I’m gonna have enough to explain to Cap when I next see him without adding in getting his BFF shot.”

Bucky put his arm around Clint’s waist in return, pulling him in for a brief sideways embrace before stepping away so that he could shut the quinjet door behind them. “I really think you should be worrying more about explaining to  _ your _ BFF,” he said. “Natasha’s way more likely to stab you than Steve is.”

He made a good point. And by the time Clint actually saw her again, he was hoping he’d be susceptible to being stabbed again.

Huh, was he going to have to change his fighting style once there was a chance he might actually get killed by one of the stupid stunts he pulled? That was going to be a pain.

Totally worth it to get to just live a normal life, though. 

“You weren’t wrong about the view,” Griff said to Thomas, looking around at the Norwegian scenery and then out over the grey sea, the wind sending occasional showers of white spray up. There were a handful of clouds overhead but it didn’t look like it was going to rain, which was a good thing. Clint hated fighting in the rain.

“Hey, what’s that?” asked Griff, shading his eyes. “Shit, it looks like a missile.”

Clint followed his gaze to the tiny streamlined shape heading towards them and let out a groan as he recognised it. “Oh no, it’s so much worse than that.”

“Huh,” said Bucky as it got close enough for the weak sun to glint off red and gold paintwork. “Guess he was monitoring the quinjet after all.”

Clint sent him a glare just as Iron Man soared in. Rather than slow down to land, he came in fast, slamming down in front of Clint hard enough to go to one knee, bracing himself with a fist to take some of the pressure.

“Hey, Tony,” said Clint.

Tony straightened up and flipped his helmet back into the neck of the suit so that Clint could see his glare. “‘Hey, Tony’?! Is that really all you’ve got? After you crept out of my Tower in the middle of the night like a one night stand with regrets?”

Clint managed a shrug that didn’t seem to do much to calm him down.

“And you!” added Tony, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “Mr I Need Your Spare Quinjet Because I’ve Got A Secret Boyfriend! You wait until Steve gets here, he’s  _ pissed _ .”

Bucky sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Fucking drama queen, Rogers,” he muttered.

“And you guys,” said Tony, glaring around at the others. “I have no idea who you all are, but I’m pissed enough with Clint to take it out on you anyway!”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Okay, dial it back,” he said. “It’s not like I gave my home address to a terrorist or anything.” His ears caught up with his brain and he frowned. “Wait, Steve’s coming here?”

Tony grinned at him, showing all his teeth. “The whole team is. The quinjet is only a few minutes behind me.”

Clint groaned. “Oh, come on, seriously? You didn’t need to all come running. We’ve kinda got plans.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” said Tony, looking over Bucky’s weaponry. “What can I say? I hate being left out of those kinds of plans, and Steve hates it even more, so I figured we’d gatecrash.”

Rhys took a step forward, drawing Tony’s attention. “Mr Stark,” he said, “with all due respect, this is a private matter.”

“Not any more it’s not,” said Tony. “Now it’s an Avengers matter. See,” he said, looking back at Clint and clearly dismissing Rhys as unimportant. Clint took a moment to enjoy the look on Rhys’s face at that, “I figured that whatever Hydra did to make you run out on us in favour of going on a rampage across Europe – a completely not subtle rampage, by the way, in case you thought I wouldn’t notice – had to be pretty fucking shitty, and any assholes doing something shitty to my teammates get a repulsor to the face. That’s just the rules. So, what did they do?”

Clint clearly wasn’t getting out of this one, not if the other Avengers were incoming as well. “They took an ancient artefact that we want back.”

Tony stared at him. “What?” he asked, then glanced at Bucky. “What, seriously?”

“It’s a cauldron,” said Bucky, helpfully.

Tony looked back at Clint, who grinned at him, then let out a long sigh, putting a gauntlet over his face. “Oh, you deserve whatever Natasha does to you.”

“Is that them?” asked Griff, looking out to sea again as a quinjet descended from the clouds. “Hydra won’t notice all this activity, will they?”

“I was hoping we’d have the element of surprise,” muttered Rhys, giving Tony a glare.

Tony made a disgusted noise at the very suggestion that his tech was noticeable by Hydra tracking systems. “Those idiots wouldn’t notice if we got half of SHIELD out here for a party,” he said, then glanced at Clint. “Speaking of which, Fury’s mad at you as well. Something about not working your notice period?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Secret agents don’t have a notice period.”

“Yeah, I got the feeling that’s not what your contract said,” said Tony as the other quinjet came in to land next to the one Clint had just landed.

The door opened almost immediately and Clint braced himself as Natasha came storming out. “идиот,” she snapped at him, smacking the back of his head. “If you wanted to take out Hydra, why didn't you ask for help?”

Clint ducked away from her, rubbing at his head. “I didn't need help.”

Her eyes darted around the others before coming to rest on Bucky. “Clearly not.”

Steve had followed her out and was glaring at Bucky with his most demoralising ‘How could you lie to me?’ expression. “You said you were going on dates.”

Bucky shrugged. “I mean, I kinda was. Just, very specifically tailored dates.”

Steve’s glare travelled to Clint, who gave him a grin he hoped would make it clear he didn't need a shovel talk. 

“Seriously? Clint?” asked Sam incredulously, having left the quinjet in time to hear that. “The guy who managed to fall in three dumpsters in one day?”

Bucky gave a shrug as if he didn't have a clue why either, which Clint couldn't really blame him for, even if there had been extenuating circumstances for those dumpsters that really should be taken into consideration before he got blamed for falling in them.

Rhys took that as his chance to try and get things back on track. “Captain Rogers, we were about to attack the Hydra base over the ridge, if you wouldn't mind leaving this until later.”

“That depends,” said Steve. “Are you going to mind us joining you?”

“Because you’re not really going to have a choice,” added Tony.

Rhys sent Clint a sour look. “So I gather,” he said. “As long as you don’t hamper our objectives, there will be no problem.”

“And what are those?” asked Natasha, glaring at Clint again. “What was so important that you ran out on your team without a word?”

“<Are we okay with them just taking over?>” asked Ifor, switching to Welsh like the asshole he was. “<This is our quest, and there was already too many strangers on it.>” He sent Bucky a dark glower.

“<Why not let them take out Hydra for us? The more the merrier, and the faster we get to the cauldron,>” said Griff.

“<They are the experts,>” added Thomas.

Rhys shook his head, turning to glare at Clint. “<As long as they don’t try and interfere,>” he said. “<If one of them tries to keep the cauldron from us…>”

“<They won’t,>” said Clint. “<They’re my friends. They just want to help.>”

Thomas snorted. “<They are more than your friends. They came here to shout at you for having worried them, like angry mother bears.>”

Clint wasn’t interested in dissecting his relationship with the Avengers right now. He turned back to them to see that Tony was frowning at him.

“What language was that?” he asked before Clint could speak.

“Welsh,” he said as briefly as he could, ignoring Natasha’s frown as she probably ran through his SHIELD file in her head and came up with nothing related to Wales. “Look, this base–”

“No, it’s not,” interrupted Tony. “JARVIS translates every known language to me simultaneously, but all he could say was that it had elements of Welsh, Irish and Breton, which I did not even know was a language, so thanks for that, but seriously. What the hell? You have a secret language with these guys and yet I’ve never even heard of them before?”

“You have heard of them,” said Clint, rather than explaining that JARVIS was probably having problems trying to translate Welsh from fifteen hundred years ago using a modern dictionary. “I went on a trip to Wales for a reunion with them a few months ago, remember? Besides, they’re all kind of assholes, you’re not missing much.”

“Fuck you, Gwion,” muttered Ifor, not quietly enough for any of the Avengers to have missed it.

“ _ Gwion _ ?!” repeated Tony and Clint sighed very deeply, and looked at Bucky for help.

“I thought you guys wanted to know about the mission,” said Bucky. “Cuz if you don’t, we’d like to just get on with it.” He made a move as if to head towards the base and Steve stepped in front of him to physically block his path rather than let him go.

“Tell us, then,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest to stare Bucky down. Bucky just rolled his eyes at him and looked back at Clint. 

Clint gave him a grateful smile for getting the conversation back on track, then glanced around to make sure everyone was paying attention. 

“This base is the home of Research Unit Caesar. A few decades ago they removed an antique cauldron from another Hydra base. It has a Celtic knot pattern around the rim, and they’ve been referring to it as  _ Kessel von Herne _ , although it really has nothing to do with Herne and their historians are all idiots. It’s very important that we retrieve it from them.”

“Seriously?” said Tony. “This really is about a cauldron? Is this some kind of Hogwarts shit?”

“Nope,” said Clint. “It’s a long story, I’ll probably tell you later. Hopefully.”

Steve had his serious mission face on. “What intel do we have about the base?”

“None,” said Bucky, shrugging. 

Steve blinked and looked at Clint, who shrugged as well. Steve sighed and put his hand on his forehead. “Okay, this is why you two aren’t allowed to run missions on your own.”

“You have no idea how many agents are inside and you were going to storm it with the two of you and four guys in civvies, one of whom is wearing a t-shirt with a joke in javascript on it?” asked Tony. Huh, okay, that explained why Ifor’s shirt didn’t make any sense to Clint.

“Okay, no. Just. No,” continued Tony, spinning away as his helmet slid back up into place. “J, do a search for all the satellite data from this area and run an analysis, will you? And get the long-range scanners ready for a sweep over the place.” His repulsors lit up but he didn’t take off before glancing back at Clint to grit out, “Do me a favour and just sit tight for ten minutes so I don’t need to worry about chasing you down again.”

He took off before Clint could reply, shooting up into the sky and behind the clouds where Hydra wouldn’t see him scanning them. 

“Even Tony Stark treats you as if you need protecting from yourself,” said Thomas, with amusement. “It does me good to know that these people know you so well.”

Natasha snorted. “I’m about two more reckless stunts from wrapping him up in bubble wrap.”

“Kinky,” said Griff, grinning at her. She stared at him, then gave the slow blink that meant she was contemplating violence.

Aw fuck, having these two groups talk to each other was going to be a nightmare. Clint had a moment of being grateful Llywelyn wasn’t here, because he was definitely the worst, and then he got distracted by being pissed at Llyw again for not answering his phone. What the hell could he possibly be doing that was more important than this?

Bucky stepped over to rest his shoulder against Clint’s. “Are you telling them?” he asked, very quietly.

Clint let himself be diverted. “No,” he said. “Not right now. I don’t want to waste any more time before we do this, and you know how distracted Tony can get by little things.”

Bucky laughed. “Sure, little things like immortality,” he muttered, but his eyes were lit up with amusement so Clint ignored his words in favour of just grinning at him. Fuck, he just wanted to get the cauldron and dump it in Wales already so that he could take this guy on a proper date and make him smile like that the whole evening.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


It was only a few minutes before Tony came back from his recon, but it was long enough for Bucky to get bored of Steve’s betrayed look. He wrapped an arm around Clint’s shoulders and gave the punk the most shit-eating look he could manage, which at least knocked the betrayal off Steve’s face in favour of irritation.

Fuck it, Bucky was the one who had woken up with Clint in his arms this morning, there was no way he was going to regret anything that had helped lead to that.

“Most of the base is dug right into the rock where my scanners don’t reach,” said Tony when he got back, “but JARVIS can’t see much activity in the area over the last few months, so I can’t imagine there’s going to be much down there. There’s two entrances, one on either side.”

Steve nodded. “Two teams, then. Bucky, Sam, you’re with me. Tony, Natasha, you take the other way.” 

He glanced at Clint with an obvious question in his eyes, and Clint just looked at Rhys. “What’s the plan, pennaeth?”

Rhys thought for a few seconds. “You and Thomas, and then Ifor, Griff and me. I assume you’ll want to be on his team,” he said, looking at Bucky with distaste.

Clint grinned. “You know me too well.”

“Okay, not to be the asshole here,” said Tony, “but you’re sure you guys are going to be able to keep up, right? I mean, we are kinda awesome at this.”

“It won’t be a problem,” said Rhys, firmly.

Griff laughed. “I bet you fifty Euros that your ‘awesome’ team gets more injuries than ours does,” he said. “Ah, no, you’re a billionaire, right? Five thousand Euros.”

Tony rolled his eyes and took off as they started towards the base. “I’m encased in inch-thick metal, are you sure you’ve thought this through properly?”

“Oh yes,” said Griff, jogging slightly to reach his side. “I’m very sure.”

Bucky kept his arm around Clint as they walked, just because he could. “You know, when you go back to having a quiver on your back, that’s gonna make hugging you trickier,” he thought out loud.

“True,” agreed Clint. “I guess you’ll just have to go for grabbing my ass instead.”

Bucky lowered his hand to do just that, testing it out. “Okay, yeah, that’s an acceptable substitute.”

Steve let out a very long sigh. “I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, but no PDA on missions. Seriously.”

“Yeah, we won’t be paying attention to that rule,” said Clint, putting his own arm around Bucky’s waist. “I mean, come on. Have you seen this guy in combat gear? You seriously expect me to keep my hands to myself?”

“So you are intending to come back, then?” asked Natasha.

“I’m definitely hoping,” said Clint. “No promises until we’ve seen how this goes.”

“It’ll be here,” said Bucky, with all the certainty he could muster. He wasn’t interested in having to spend any longer tracking this thing down, not if it meant he had to wait for his date with Clint.

“It better be,” muttered Clint in a tone that made it clear he was thinking the same thing.

The base was hidden by the rocky landscape until they got close, which meant they were hidden from any sentries Hydra might have posted. They split into two groups and the other group headed across the headland that the base was on the tip of to the other entrance.

They gave them fifteen minutes to get into position before going in. It was almost laughably easy. Even if Bucky hadn’t been in the mood to really fuck Hydra’s shit up, they’d still have blown through their guards like a whirlwind, getting through the outer doors and into the base without even needing to pause. 

“Storage rooms are most likely to be downstairs,” said Bucky, heading for the stairs.

Steve nodded, putting a hand to his comm unit. “Tony and the others are in and going down as well,” he said. “Iron Man, take the even number floors, and we’ll take the odd, to avoid overlap.”

The base was as concrete inside as it was outside and there was a vague sense of damp in the air, which probably came from having the sea right next door. Bucky could only assume that research units didn’t get the first pick of bases and that was why they’d ended up with this dump in the middle of nowhere.

“Hey, Cap, you’re on the comms. Is Rhys pissing Tony off yet?” asked Clint as they headed down the spiral staircase. “Ooh, or is Tony pissing Rhys off?”

Steve sent him a frown that mean he’d prefer it if everyone concentrated on the mission, but he didn’t say anything. Bucky thought he’d probably decided this base was easy enough to take out that they didn’t need to stick to strict mission protocols.

“Sounds like they’re both pissing off each other,” said Sam. “Your guy is kinda bossy.”

“You have no idea,” said Thomas. He glanced at Clint with a gleam in his eyes. “Remember Aberystwyth, cariad?”

Clint just groaned. “Don’t fucking remind me of that shitshow.”

They reached the next floor down and spread out as much as they could in the corridor, jogging through and checking all the rooms only to find that it was completely deserted. 

“Guess they all did the sensible thing and ran for it,” said Clint.

None of the rooms held anything that might be the cauldron, so they headed down to the next level. Bucky clenched tighter at his gun, trying to not let the frustration take control. There were still plenty of other places for the cauldron to be. It would be here. It  _ had _ to be.

“The others haven’t found anything yet either,” reported Steve.

“It sounds like Natasha is pretty close to stabbing both Tony and Rhys, though,” added Sam. “So at least that’ll keep them entertained.”

Clint snorted and glanced at Bucky. “And she wondered why I hadn’t introduced her to the guys I went to a reunion with.”

“You introduced me,” Bucky pointed out. “I didn’t stab anyone.” He’d come close a couple of times, sure, but he hadn’t actually done it. He felt like he should get some credit for that.

Clint patted his shoulder. “And I’m very grateful,” he said. “Not that it would have got you anywhere, of course.”

Thomas laughed behind them. “If anyone could stab Rhys, I am sure it would have been Gwion, many years ago.”

“Or me, last night,” muttered Bucky.

“He does have that effect on people,” agreed Thomas. “Almost as much as Llywelyn.”

Clint groaned. “Don’t fucking bring that asshole up. Where the fuck even is he? What the hell could he be doing that’s more important than this?”

They’d reached the next floor, which was a wide open space with a long, narrow window all down one wall that looked out to sea. Embedded in the concrete floor Bucky could still see the metal rails that the artillery guns would have been mounted on, but there was no sign of them now. The only signs of life were a series of desks against the opposite wall, piled in paperwork.

“If the last few months have taught me anything,” said Clint, knocking over a stack on the nearest desk, “it’s that Hydra really fucking love their bureaucracy.”

“You should have seen the records room we lit up in the Matterhorn,” said Steve, adjusting his grip on his shield. “It stretched for miles.”

“The cauldron isn’t here,” said Thomas. “Next floor.” He took off down the steps and Steve followed a moment later, clearly annoyed that he wasn’t at the front. Bucky exchanged a glance with Clint and followed them, wondering just how many floors this place even had. How deep into the cliff was it dug?

“The others found the armoury,” reported Sam as they headed down more steps. “Tony’s putting explosives down so we can set them off when we’re done.”

Bucky nodded, thinking of the explosives he had tucked on his person. He’d plant some on the next floor they made it to, if there was still no sign of Hydra.

“Will the Norwegian government be pleased if you destroy a historic landmark such as this?” asked Thomas.

Clint snorted. “They’ll be fucking ecstatic that we took out a Hydra base operating right under their noses. Frankly if they wanted this place in one piece they shouldn’t have let neo-Nazi bastards make a home in it.” 

“Shh,” hushed Steve, and a moment later bullets ricocheted off the concrete ahead of them. Steve hefted his shield and Bucky gripped tighter at his gun, grinning to himself. Finally, a chance for some action.

They paused as Steve glanced ahead, then counted down his fingers from five. They burst around the last corner of the stairs at zero, Steve keeping his shield up as he threw himself at the nearest Hydra agents.

They were fanned out in groups, facing the stairs and clearly hoping to ambush them as they came down, but between Steve’s usual recklessness and Thomas and Clint having no fear of being shot, things didn’t quite go their way. By the time Bucky threw himself into the fight, half the Hydra agents were down and the other half were fighting for their lives.

Sam swooped over his head, shooting down at the few agents who were still holding it together. It was clearly the final straw because they broke, retreating back through the door at the far end of the hall.

“Don’t let up!” shouted Steve, sprinting after them and Bucky followed as closely as he could, aware that Clint was on his left, shooting as he ran and taking out the last couple of agents before they could get behind cover.

“Nå!” shouted a voice from the next room.

There was an explosion, cracking the roof and walls and sending rubble and dust cascading down on them. Bucky ducked down and then was bowled over by someone knocking into him just before the ceiling came crashing down behind them with a thundering sound that blocked everything else out.

Bucky landed heavily on his side, ears ringing as he shut his eyes against the falling debris and dust filling the air. Above him he could feel a body pressed against him as rocks fell all around. Shit, shit, this was bad. 

He heard something hit with a ringing sound that he recognised as Steve’s shield and peeled his eyes open, desperately looking ahead to where Steve had been.

Steve was on the ground but he was crouched behind his shield and he didn’t look injured, so Bucky glanced to where Clint had been instead, only to find that he was the person braced over Bucky. He was covered in dust, but didn’t look hurt. As Bucky stared at him, a final chunk of concrete fell from the ceiling, missing Clint’s head by less than an inch. Clint didn’t even flinch.

“Immortal,” Bucky said, and he sounded dazed, even to himself. Shit, it was one thing to be told Clint couldn’t be hurt, and quite another to see him survive an explosion like that without being crushed.

“Yeah,” said Clint with a rueful smile. “You’re not, though.”

Bucky mentally ran over his body, gingerly moving his hands and feet, then reported, “I’m not injured.”

Clint’s smile of relief came along with a tightening of his arms around Bucky. “Thank fuck. You’re not allowed to go dying before I get to spend my life with you.”

“Sam!” Steve called, and Bucky tore himself away from staring into Clint’s eyes to look around. Thomas was already standing up, as unharmed as Clint, but the place where Sam had been was now a pile of rock.

“Falcon!” shouted Steve, scrambling to his feet. “Report!”

Clint stood up as well and Bucky tried not to think about how much he missed having him pressed so close as he followed suit. This wasn’t the time to think about cuddling, not if Sam was hurt.

“Sam!” said Steve again, pressing one hand to his comms as he stared at the rock as if he could see through it.

Bucky might not have been on the comms but he could tell the moment Sam responded, because Steve’s shoulders slumped with relief.

“Okay, hold there until we can get to you,” he said, and turned back to Bucky and Clint. “He’s okay,” he said. “His wings are damaged, but he’s not hurt.”

“How about we go fuck up the guys who tried to hurt him?” said Clint, checking the ammo left in his gun and then reloading.

Steve grinned. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

They advanced on the door that Hydra had disappeared through with slightly more caution than they had taken before. Bucky wasn’t particularly keen on finding out how much more of the base had been rigged with booby traps.

As they approached the door, a voice Bucky hadn’t heard in 70 years called out, “don’t be shy. Come right in, Captain Rogers, I’ve been waiting for you.” 

Steve looked just as freaked out as Bucky felt as they stepped through.

The room was clearly some kind of security centre, with monitors showing most of the base lit up along one wall. Bucky caught a glimpse of Iron Man flying past a camera, but he didn’t look for longer, not when there were more pressing things calling for his attention. Around the room and standing on a balcony overhead were all the Hydra agents they hadn’t encountered in the rest of the base. Fuck, this had been a trap and they’d sauntered right into it, and now their exit was blocked.

Even the agents weren’t the main focus of Bucky’s attention though, because right in the middle of the room was a figure he’d hoped never to see again, although he still showed up fairly frequently in his nightmares. Red Skull.

“I thought I’d killed you,” said Steve, hefting his shield up a bit higher.

Red Skull’s grin made Bucky twitch with revulsion. “You certainly tried,” he agreed. “However, it is not so easy to kill someone like me.” His eyes flicked over to Clint. “For the chosen few, immortality isn’t just a dream, isn’t that right, Hawkeye?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” said Clint, but Bucky could hear the unease in his voice. Hell, he was feeling the exact same unease. What the hell did this asshole think he knew about Clint?

“Oh, you really do,” said Red Skull, and he gestured at some of his minions. “The Tesseract wasn’t the only useful artefact we retrieved before Herr Hitler’s glorious regime was ended and we were forced to go underground.”

A Hydra agent stepped out from the crowd carrying a cauldron, and Clint made a choked noise that confirmed Bucky’s suspicions. This was the thing they’d been chasing down all these months, and that Clint had been chasing for much, much longer, and Red Skull had it.

“Ah, don’t come too close,” said Red Skull as Thomas took a step forwards. “It’s not all I have, after all.”

There was a commotion, then a man was pushed forward through the crowd, wrapped up in chains and with a large gag covering his face so that it took Bucky a moment to recognise him as Clint’s brother, Barney or Llywelyn or whatever Bucky should be calling him. Not that he had much hope of being able to replicate the way Clint and the others said Llywelyn, which seemed to bear only a slight resemblance to the spelling.

“You fucking asshole,” said Clint, but Bucky couldn’t tell if he was saying it to Red Skull or Barney.

“You’ve been destroying my bases,” said Red Skull. “I think that makes you the asshole. And he helped. A couple of my men overheard him bragging about it in a bar in Berlin, so they took him into custody, but none of their interrogation techniques managed to touch him. When I heard about it, I recognised the signs immediately and had him sent to me. Imagine my surprise when he told me he was your brother.”

Clint groaned. “Seriously?” he asked Barney. Barney just shrugged.

“And then he got a voicemail from you saying that you were coming here,” said Red Skull, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket and waggling it at them.

Steve turned to glare at Clint. “You left mission information on a voicemail?”

“Yeah, okay, that one’s my bad,” said Clint. “In my defence, I was really pissed with him at the time.”

Steve shook his head, then took a step forward. “Enough chatter, Red Skull,” he said. “What do you want from us?”

“From you, Captain?” asked Red Skull, tucking the phone away again. “Nothing. You and your serum are last century’s news.” He glanced at the cauldron with a pleased, proprietary look. “This century is all about true immortality. For me and my most important followers.”

“Oh, this isn’t good,” muttered Thomas, and Bucky had to agree.

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Clint. “You can’t just hand immortality out to whoever you want. It’s a curse.”

Steve sent him a swift, confused look, and Bucky realised he was missing context for most of this conversation. He caught his eyes and sent him a look that he hoped said  _ I’ll explain later, just follow my lead _ . Steve nodded and turned his attention back to Red Skull.

“Ah, but I am already cursed,” said Red Skull, gesturing at the mess that was his face. “And I own the cauldron. Its power is mine. I may not have worked out how to pass on its gifts, but I will do. Especially with this one to experiment on.” He gestured at Barney.

“No,” said Clint, stepping forward and tightening his grip on his gun. “No way. Not happening. I’m taking back the cauldron, and my brother, and you can go fuck yourself.”

“Then you will have the deaths of the Captain and his sidekick on your conscience,” said Red Skull, and every Hydra agent in the place raised their guns. Bucky realised with a sick feeling that none of them were bothering to aim at Thomas or Clint, but were solely focused on him and Steve.

Fuck, even Captain America couldn’t survive being peppered with that many bullets.

“You haven’t told us what you want,” said Steve, not looking cowed by the situation because he was a fucking reckless idiot. “You knew we were coming but you didn’t clear out, so you clearly set this up because you want something. What is it?”

Red Skull’s grin widened. “Ah, so perceptive. What I want, what Hydra  _ needs _ after your meddling in our affairs, is a new asset.”

Bucky felt himself freeze. Oh god, no.

“We still have the chair,” continued Red Skull, and cold washed through Bucky because he thought he’d destroyed every last one of those things. “So all we need is a suitable candidate. Obviously, someone who is incapable of being killed is the best choice.”

“No,” said Clint, stepping forward. “No fucking way. You’re not turning Barney into your fucking puppet.”

Red Skull grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said. “I will make your brother the new asset if he is all I have, but I would prefer someone who already has many of the skills needed. Training is so laborious. There is one person who is both highly trained in combat, and immortal, who would–”

“No,” interrupted Bucky, because he couldn’t listen to this any longer. “No fucking way. You’re not touching Clint.”

“Be silent, Soldier,” said the Red Skull. “This is not your decision.” He looked back at Clint. “It is yours. How much do you care about your brother? Enough to sacrifice yourself for him? Or are you content to let me break him into the shape I need him?”

Clint hesitated, and it felt like a knife to Bucky’s heart. “You can’t do it, Clint,” he said, desperately. “You can’t.”

Clint glanced at him with anguish in his eyes. “I can’t let him do it to Llyw either,” he said. “And you’ll get me back. Steve got you back.”

“No,” said Steve. “No one is sacrificing anything today.” He glared at the Red Skull. “Hand him over, and the cauldron, or we’ll take you apart.”

Red Skull laughed, spreading his arms wide. “You are welcome to try.”

Bucky didn’t need any more of an invitation. He raised his gun and took four fast shots, all of which should have buried themselves in Red Skull’s ugly face.

None of them hit. They all thudded uselessly into the wall behind him. Bucky blinked in surprise, because he hadn’t missed a shot like that in… well, ever. Even in basic training he’d been able to hit a stationary target dead on, first time.

Red Skull laughed again, smugly enough to make Bucky grit his teeth. “There is no killing me,” he said. “There will be no killing my new asset. The only choice you have is who will be filling that role.”

“This is bullshit,” announced Thomas. He looked at Clint. “Will you let this man dictate our future?”

“What else can we do?” asked Clint, and then said something rapid in Welsh that made Thomas frown and shake his head as he replied.

“Enough!” interrupted Red Skull. “Make the decision. Either I am leaving with your brother or with you, but I will be leaving in the next two minutes.” He glanced at the minion holding the cauldron. “Get that stowed.”

The minion nodded and disappeared. Clint watched it go, then glanced at Bucky with a desperate look in his eyes that made Bucky’s heart sink. “I can’t leave Barney to suffer,” he said. “He’s not trained for anything like this.”

“He’s an asshole,” Bucky pointed out, but he could tell that wasn’t going to make a difference.

Clint just shrugged helplessly. “He’s my brother.”

“Leave your weapons and come over here,” said Red Skull.

Clint handed his gun to Bucky, who took it with numb fingers. “I love you,” he said, because he couldn’t think of any other way to stop Clint doing this.

Clint met his look for a long look, his eyes fierce with emotion. “Then you’ll come after me,” he said. He looked at Thomas and added something in Welsh.

Red Skull clicked his tongue with impatience. “Get over here, Asset.”

Bucky shuddered at the memory of being called that and the horror of Clint becoming what he had been. He couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed for Clint’s arm, but Clint shook him off.

“This is my choice,” he said, and fuck, what the hell was Bucky meant to do with that? He clenched his hands around the guns in them and growled, but Clint was already walking away.

“Let him go,” Clint said to Red Skull.

Red Skull nodded at his minions, who let go of Barney and pushed him towards the Avengers. Barney was glaring at Clint but he didn’t look anywhere as pissed as he should be that Clint was sacrificing himself like this.

“I will hunt you to the end of the earth,” said Steve to Red Skull. “You won’t get away with this.”

Red Skull laughed. “I already have,” he said as Clint reached him. He grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him close. “I will have a new asset that none of you will be able to harm, even if you could bring yourselves to hurt him. Hydra will rebuild!”

“We’re gonna burn you to the fucking ground!” said Bucky. Red Skull just sneered at him, turning towards the door and dragging Clint after him. Clint glanced back at Bucky just before they reached the door and the look in his eyes made Bucky want to destroy everything around them.

As Red Skull disappeared, the other Hydra agents started slipping out as well, but Bucky wasn’t having that. He glanced at Steve, who gave him a nod, then said, “Tony, now!” into his comm unit.

A second later the lights all went out and Bucky started moving before he’d even thought about, throwing himself at the nearest silhouettes as gunshots rang out, bullets scattering around where he had been. 

He couldn’t see much without the lights but he knew that the Hydra agents would be able to see even less, and anyway, the one thing he did need to see was the door to the next room and the square of it was faintly highlighted against the black of the walls. He punched another agent as he sprinted towards it, vaguely aware of the metallic clangs as Steve fought through the agents on his side of the room and heavy footsteps behind him that must be Thomas.

The space beyond the door Clint and Red Skull had disappeared through was lit up enough to reveal that it was a cave that must have been there before the rest of the base was built. The floor ended after a few metres and the rest of the cave was filled with water, waves rolling in from a dark tunnel that must lead outside to the open sea. Moored along the dock was a speedboat with its navigation lights on and Red Skull already on board. His minions pushed Clint after him, then cast the ropes off and jumped after him.

“Clint!” shouted Bucky, sprinting for the boat, but he was too late. The engine burst to life and the boat headed for the tunnel out of the cave, the lights sending shadows leaping across the rocky roof as it moved.

Clint had clearly stopped coming quietly once everyone else was safe and was struggling with a couple of agents, but he didn’t seem to be doing very well and the boat was getting further and further away. Bucky had to stop himself from leaping in after it, because he’d tried to swim a couple of times with his metal arm and it never went well. And that was without all the weight of the weaponry he’d slung around himself.

“Clint!” he shouted again, uselessly.

Thomas arrived next to him. “Blow them up!” he said, and Bucky turned to stare at him.

“What?”

Thomas mimed throwing a grenade. “Quick! Before they get away!”

Bucky wasted another couple of seconds just staring at him, then felt for one of the grenades he’d stashed away. Clint was immortal. He’d run through a hail of bullets and not been touched, and he’d jumped from a gantry and been fine, and he’d been in a collapsing room and nothing had come close to hitting him. If Bucky threw a grenade at the boat he was on, he’d survive it.

It was one thing to know that, and quite another to believe it. He made ready to throw, then hesitated, unable to do it.

“Come on!” said Thomas. “He said to do it!”

Fuck. Bucky took a deep breath, then pulled the pin and threw the grenade without letting himself think about it.

Thomas yelled something in Welsh at the same time that Bucky really hoped was a warning for Clint.

The boat had nearly been out of range but he managed to land the grenade in the cockpit. There was a sudden flurry of movement onboard just before the grenade exploded, fire lighting up the dark of the cave as the boat blew apart, bits of hull going flying in all directions, hitting the walls and splashing into the water.

“What the fuck did you do?!” asked Steve from behind Bucky, but Bucky didn’t have time to worry about when the hell he’d turned up. He was too busy scanning the water, which had gone dark again without the boat’s lights or the explosion to light it up. All he could see was black water, churned up by the explosion and slapping noisily against the quay.

“Clint!” he called, but there was no answer.

Oh fuck, what if he’d killed him? What if Clint was less immortal than everyone thought?

“Tony, we need the lights again, right now!” said Steve, and a second later the place lit up.

The sudden light made Bucky squint in surprise, then he stared out at the water and, oh fuck. Thank god.

Clint was swimming back towards them, one arm wrapped around the cauldron as he paddled with the other. Behind him, Bucky could see the boat’s wreckage and a couple of bodies floating in the water.

The relief made him sink to his knees, which meant he was in the right place to reach out and take the cauldron from Clint once he was close enough, pushing it blindly at Thomas to free both his arms so he could grab Clint under his arms and lift him out of the water, falling backwards so that Clint’s wet body fell on top of his.

“Oh fuck,” he said, wrapping his arms around Clint and ignoring the water soaking through his clothes. “Fuck, Clint, I thought I’d lost you.”

“Not a chance,” said Clint breathlessly, holding on just as tightly.

Bucky was vaguely aware of Steve saying something overhead but he wasn’t interested in listening, not when he had Clint in his arms, whole and breathing and alive. Thomas replied, and their footsteps moved away.

“Thanks for not letting Hydra turn me into their pet assassin,” said Clint, and Bucky just clung on tighter.

“I threw a grenade at you,” he said, because there was no way in fuck he should be getting thanks for that.

“Yeah, it was perfect,” said Clint, and he pulled away to stare down at Bucky. “Exactly the right thing to do. I’m fine, Bucky, barely a scratch.”

Bucky let out a long breath, finally letting go of Clint with one arm so that he could run a hand through his hair, sending water droplets flying. “You better be,” he said. “No way you’re getting out of taking me to dinner just because Red Skull wanted to kidnap you.”

Clint’s face lit up. “We got the cauldron,” he said, in a hushed voice filled with wonder. “Holy fuck, Bucky, we got the cauldron. I’m gonna get to take you to dinner and be an Avenger again and fucking  _ grow old _ with you.”

It was too much. His exuberant expression, the way he felt pressed against Bucky’s body, the sheer relief rolling through Bucky, all of it was too much. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from pulling Clint’s head down and kissing him, pressing his mouth to Clint’s cold, damp lips and doing his best to kiss warmth back into them.

Clint was just as eager, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss and pressing even closer to Bucky which, okay, he really was very wet and the water was  _ cold _ .

Bucky wasn’t about to complain though, not when he finally had exactly what he wanted.

Somewhere above his head, someone pointedly cleared their throat. Bucky ignored it in favour of continuing to kiss Clint, angling their mouths together in a way that won him a soft moan.

“Okay, seriously,” said Steve, “you guys need to save this until later. There might still be Hydra agents around.”

Clint pulled away from Bucky just long enough to say, “Fuck that, it’s not like they can hurt me, and I’ve got Bucky covered.” He wriggled against Bucky to demonstrate just how well he was shielding every part of Bucky’s body from any potential bad guys, and then bent his head to kiss him again. Bucky just let it all happen.

Steve let out a very deep sigh. “Yeah, that’s something else we should be talking about. What’s all this about you being immortal?”

Bucky tightened his hand on the back of Clint’s head so that he wouldn’t stop kissing him in order to answer, but Clint didn’t even move, except to wriggle his fingers into the gap between Bucky’s pants and tac vest, where he could get at bare skin.

Steve gave up and wandered off – or at least he stopped talking, which was pretty much all Bucky wanted.

Time passed that he lost in the taste of Clint’s mouth and the feel of his body against his, and then some asshole kicked him.

He jerked away from Clint, looking up to glare at whoever it was to see Iron Man looking down at him. “Come on, lover boys, it’s time to blow this popsicle stand,” he said. “I’m pretty sure even you don’t want to actually have sex in a Hydra base.”

He made a good point. Besides, Bucky could feel Clint starting to shiver and he thought they should probably get him out of his wet clothes.

And maybe into some dry ones, although Bucky was less concerned about that.

“Besides, we must get the cauldron to Haverfordwest before something else goes wrong,” said Rhys, stepping next to Tony. He had the cauldron in his arms and was hugging it as if he were never going to let it go.

Clint let out a long sigh. “Yeah, okay,” he grumbled. He pressed one last, quick kiss to Bucky’s lips, then clambered up and off him. “Hey, when did you guys turn up, anyway?”

“Long enough ago that you really should have noticed,” said Tony. “And before that we were digging through a rockfall, which was also kinda noticeable for most people.”

Clint shrugged and held out a hand to help Bucky up. Bucky took it, then kept hold of it once he was on his feet so that he could pull Clint closer and kiss him again. “Guess we were distracted,” he said, not taking his eyes off Clint’s face.

Tony groaned. “Jesus, this is going to be a nightmare,” he muttered, and stomped away.

Rhys stayed long enough to say something scathing in Welsh that made Clint roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he said. “Jesus, we’ve waited fifteen hundred years, you think ten minutes wouldn’t matter.”

He kept hold of Bucky’s hand as he stepped away and Bucky happily followed him, giving Steve his best smug grin as they all headed back towards the stairs. He wasn’t about to apologise for finally getting to make out with Clint.

  
  


**** 

**** 

  
  


Watching the Hydra base blow up was one of the most satisfying things Clint had seen in a good few years. From the look on his face, Bucky thought the same.

Of course, then came explaining to the other Avengers that they had to go to Wales in order to give the cauldron back to the druid at the ancient shrine that they’d stolen it from a millennium and a half ago, so that they could end the curse that meant they were immortal, which went better than Clint would have thought. Especially as Bucky made them all wait first while Clint changed his wet clothes for his spare combat suit, which they apparently hadn’t got around to clearing out of the Avengers’ quinjet.

In fact, his locker in there was completely untouched. He touched the bow with light fingertips and wished he’d known it was there before they’d attacked the base.

When he walked off the jet, the Avengers were all waiting, most of them with crossed arms and the look that said that if they didn’t get an explanation for some of the shit they’d just gone through, they were going to start stabbing people.

Okay, maybe that was just Natasha, but it was a pretty compelling expression.

Clint ran through his life story as quickly as he could, thinking that having already done this with Bucky hadn’t actually made him any better at explaining.

“I can’t believe this is my life now,” said Sam, who had a scratch on his forehead and a few bruises but was otherwise fine, although his wings were going to need a lot of attention from Tony. “I mean, the Norse god was bad enough, but this is… Seriously? Clint? How the hell can  _ you _ be centuries old?”

Clint shrugged at him, feeling the arm Bucky had draped around his shoulders rise and lower with the movement. “It’s not like I’m the only guy you know who’s way older than he looks.”

Natasha said something rude in Russian that Clint chose to pretend he didn’t understand. “You didn’t think to mention this to me? At any time when we were risking our lives together? Or should that just be my life?”

Okay, that might be a point. Clint winced and gave her his best apologetic face. “I wasn’t telling anyone.”

She shook her head and turned away, and he tried not to squirm with guilt because he’d thought several times over the years that it would make their missions easier to plan if she knew she didn’t have to worry about him dying. He glanced at Rhys, who was impatiently edging towards the quinjet.

“You can have this conversation later,” he said. “Let’s get this done.”

“Please,” added Thomas. “Let’s bring this to an end, finally.”

Griff bounced on his heels with excitement. “And then you can drop me back in Spain, right? There are things I intend to do, now that I can.”

Clint grinned around at them all. “Sure, lifts home for everyone. Except Llyw, because he stole my bow and then got kidnapped.”

Llywelyn let out a long sigh. “<You’re an ass, Gwion,>” he muttered in Welsh.

“Where in Wales are we going?” asked Sam, and Clint blinked around at him.

“You guys don’t need to come.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, right. As if we’re letting you out of our sight just yet. You might go running off to retrieve the original Trojan horse or some shit.”

Steve crossed his arms in his most iconic ‘Captain America is making a stand’ pose. “Tony’s right. We’re all coming to see this through to the end.”

“Even if we don’t have a clue what’s going on,” muttered Sam. “Come on, give me the destination or I’ll just be shadowing you the whole way, and that’s not fun flying.”

Clint glanced at Rhys, who looked completely resigned to having his quest taken over by Avengers, although Clint had a feeling he was going to be pissy about it once they were in the air. Fuck it, it wasn’t as if Clint was opposed to having his friends there to share this with. 

“The place is in Haverfordwest,” he said. “South Wales. There are some woods we can land in where we probably won’t get noticed, I’ll let you know where when we get close.”

Sam nodded at him and headed into the quinjet the Avengers had brought to start take off preparation.

Steve turned to follow him, then glanced back at Bucky, who just tightened his arm around Clint. “I’m riding with Clint.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I figured,” he said. “Mostly I’m wondering if we’ll ever see either of you without the other again.”

“What would be the point of that?” asked Bucky, kissing the side of Clint’s forehead. Clint felt his grin grow wider.

Tony groaned. “Sickening,” he said, shaking his head. “Absolutely sickening. Steve, when you asked if your mentally unstable, brainwashed ex-Hydra assassin BFF could move in, you didn’t say anything about PDAs and romcom bullshit. I would not have been okay with it if I’d known about this.”

“Enough,” snapped Rhys. “Let’s do this. Gwion, we’ve wasted enough time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Clint, turning towards the quinjet. “Let’s go, then.”

Bucky’s arm fell from his shoulders but he caught Clint’s hand as he followed him and yeah, okay, maybe Tony had a point, but fuck him. Clint had a shot at being with a guy he loved without knowing it already had a deadline for the first time since the beginning of the Middle Ages. He was going to enjoy the fuck out of it.

Holy hell, he was going to get to be Clint Barton until he died. He shivered with joy as the realisation hit him all over again and he tried not to bounce with excitement, because Griff definitely had that covered.

“See you guys there,” he called to the other Avengers.

“Sure thing,  _ Gwion _ ,” replied Tony. Clint just grinned at him, because what the fuck did it matter what name people used for him? At this point, he’d lived lives being called almost every Western name there was. One of the things that had drawn him to use Frank Barton’s identity in the first place was that he hadn’t been a Clint before.

The flight to Haverfordwest was filled with excitement. Everyone wanted to take a turn at holding the cauldron, getting to touch it and hold the evidence that they were finally ending this in their hands.

“<I was actually beginning to think humanity would go extinct before we found it>,” said Llywelyn, stroking his hand around the rim.

“<They have been trying very hard recently,>” said Ifor.

Thomas shook his head. “<It’s not as bad as when the Black Death first came through,>” he said, and they all winced at the reminder. That had been a really crappy century.

“<My turn,>” said Ifor, reaching out for the cauldron. Llywelyn just scowled at him, clinging on tighter, and for a moment Clint thought the whole thing was going to disintegrate into a wrestling match.

“<Don’t damage it,>” snapped Rhys, taking it back from Llywelyn.

“<The last thing we want is for it to end up dropping into the ocean because you got in a fight on a quinjet and we crashed,>” added Griff.

“I wouldn’t crash us, even if you did decide to fight out who gets to hold the thing,” said Clint, speaking in English because Bucky might be happy enough to sit there in ignorance of what was going on, but Clint didn’t want to feel like a complete ass.

“No one will be fighting,” said Thomas. “I am not going to miss out on finishing this after we’ve got this far, and if you damage it that old bastard may decide to punish us further.”

Rhys ran a gentle hand over the cauldron. “We have been punished enough,” he said tiredly. “More than enough.”

“Yeah, the sentence definitely didn’t fit the crime,” said Llywelyn. “And I should know, I’ve done a lot of crimes over the years.”

Bucky nudged Clint’s leg. “Can I ask why you took it in the first place?”

There was a resounding silence from the rest of the plane. Bucky glanced back at them, then quirked an eyebrow at Clint.

Clint sighed. “It wasn’t my idea,” he said, and Llywelyn groaned.

“Please don’t tell me you’re still blaming me.”

“Of course I am,” said Clint, glancing back at him. “You’re my older brother, who else am I going to blame?” He looked at Bucky again, took a deep breath, and let him in to this part of his life as well. “Our parents were farmers, and we had another brother, and two sisters as well. We all knew the farm would go to Caradog, as the eldest, and our sisters married local men and moved to their farms, but there was no place for us.”

“Unless you’d married Ryryd’s daughter, like Mam was hoping,” muttered Llyw. “She inherited his whole farm, you know.”

Clint did know. Mam had pointed that out to him on an almost daily basis, back then. “I wasn’t going to be marrying any woman,” he said, not that he’d been able to tell Mam that, “and you knew that even then.” 

He glanced back at Bucky, who was scowling as if he had to be jealous of a woman who had died nearly fifteen centuries before he was born, and who had been a bit of a stick-in-the-mud to boot. Clint patted at Bucky’s thigh and carried on his story.

“We went to be soldiers instead. Archers for the local lord, which paid well enough, except he died without an heir and his land got taken by the next lord over, who had his own men and didn’t need us. We went back home but it was clear that there wasn’t a place for us there either, especially as Llyw was a dick to pretty much everyone within a week of us being back. He met Rhys, who told him he was forming a band and looking for fighters, and Llyw came back and told me all about it, and talked me into joining up.”

“Which was so very difficult,” muttered Llyw. “Not at all like you were champing at the bit to get out from under Mam’s eye and away from her matchmaking.”

“It wasn’t a band,” interrupted Rhys. “It was a crusade.”

“There were six of us wandering around Wales looking for loot,” said Ifor. “It was not a crusade.”

“I was on an actual Crusade,” said Llywelyn, as if that was something to be proud of. “There would have had to be far more of us, and we would have had to be wandering around the Holy Land looking for loot.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at Clint. “You were roaming bandits.”

“Basically,” said Clint, at the same time as Rhys snapped, “No!”

Clint glanced over his shoulder at Rhys’s scowl and winked at him. “Okay, five of us were roaming bandits, and Rhys was on a holy crusade,” he said, then looked back at Bucky’s frown. “Look, Christianity was still pretty new back then,” he said. “The old religion in Wales was still clinging on in places, mostly small shrines, sacred groves, that sort of thing. Rhys was all up for eradicating the pagan evil, and the rest of us were interested in selling off whatever loot we could get from them.”

Put like that, they sounded like assholes, but Clint had long since resigned himself to the fact that they pretty much deserved what had happened to them. Even if he had just been an idiot following his brother’s lead.

“The shrine outside Haverfordwest was sacred to Cerridwen,” he continued. “There was an old druid who kept it. We went in, knocked him about a bit when he tried to keep us out, took everything of value and torched the place. Well, tried to, it’s not so easy to burn a cave.”

He glanced at Bucky’s face to see how he’d taken that. Bucky was staring out the windshield with a faint frown and Clint winced.

“I know, we were dicks,” he said. “I was just hoping to get enough money to buy my own bit of land, so I wouldn’t have to either go marrying some woman who had an inheritance, or making a living out of shooting people just because archery was my one useful skill.”

“I get it,” said Bucky, slowly.

“Plus, Llyw made it sound like a good idea,” added Clint, because he was only willing to take so much responsibility for his own actions.

Llywelyn just let out a long sigh. “Caradog was always my favourite brother,” he muttered, even though they both knew that had never been true. Caradog had been a nice guy, sure, but unbelievably dull. Clint couldn’t really remember having any conversations with him that hadn’t been about either farming or the weather.

“The cauldron was the most valuable thing we ever stole,” put in Griff. “It was enough to set us all up with new lives.”

Clint nodded, glancing at Bucky before he concentrated back on crossing London’s airspace without crashing into any of the hundreds of planes going round and round in holding patterns. “Which was why we just laughed when the druid cursed us. Besides, he was cursing us with immortality, which didn’t seem like a curse at all.”

“We didn’t even believe in it for a decade,” added Griff. “And it took another few years for us to foresee the problems it would cause.”

Clint made a face. “Maybe for you,” he muttered, because he’d been wary about the whole thing as soon as they’d realised that the druid hadn’t been talking shit and none of them had aged a single day since they’d taken the cauldron. Back then, the others had just called him a pessimist, before their neighbours had started giving them funny looks and Thomas had realised that he was going to watch his wife and children grow old and die without ever gaining a grey hair.

“Yeah, alright, Mister Foresight,” muttered Llywelyn.

“And when you did realise?” asked Bucky.

Clint shrugged. “There wasn’t much we could do. We went back to the shrine and begged the druid to release us, but he told us that it was set in place until the cauldron was restored to its rightful place, and by then we’d completely lost track of the thing. We spent a few years chasing down buyers, wandering all over the place trying to find it, but…”

He shook his head, remembering how frustrating it had been to try and track down an object that no one seemed to want to hold on to for longer than a few months.

“It has taken us this long,” finished Thomas, with a heavy sigh.

Far too long. Although, if it had been any quicker, Clint wouldn’t have met Bucky. He thought back through the achingly long centuries he had endured, and realised he couldn’t actually say if that was worth it or not. Some of those centuries had been horribly long.

Bucky still wasn’t saying anything, and he wasn’t touching Clint any more. Fuck, if Clint had managed to put him off already, just by telling a story that was fifteen hundred years old, he was going to… well, he was going to do every damn thing he could to win him back. He wasn’t losing this now, not after everything.

He glanced at the flight instruments, and then back at the others. “Ten minutes to landing,” he said. “Strap in.”

  
  


**** 

  
  


His fears about Bucky were apparently groundless, because as soon as they had landed in the middle of a tiny patch of woods near the caravan park, Bucky reached out and took Clint’s hand. 

Clint gave him a grateful smile and Bucky said, “We all make stupid mistakes when we’re young,” as the others all got off the quinjet, Griff whooping with excitement and hoisting the cauldron above his head. “You just seem to have paid a much higher price than most of us.”

Clint squeezed his hand. “It got me you, didn’t it?”

Bucky grinned and leaned in to kiss him. “I take back what I said about your flirting skills. You are kinda smooth sometimes.”

Clint glanced over his shoulder to see that the quinjet was now empty and moved to sit in Bucky’s lap, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him properly. Bucky’s arms tightened around his waist and Clint let himself get lost for a moment.

“<Get the fuck out here, Gwion, or we’ll finish this without you!>” shouted Griff’s voice, and Clint sighed, pulling away from Bucky.

“Hold that thought,” he said. “We’ll finish it when we’re back at the Tower, back when I’m a mortal, aging guy again.”

“Mmm, wrinkles and grey hair,” said Bucky, waggling his eyebrows. “Can’t wait.”

Clint laughed as he stood up, taking Bucky’s hand again as they headed off the quinjet. Sam had landed his quinjet next to Clint’s, and the Avengers were disembarking.

“<There’s no finishing this without me,>” Clint said to Griff. “<I’m the one that got the cauldron back, while fighting neo-Nazis on an exploding speedboat.>”

“<Yes, yes, we were all very impressed,>” said Griff, vibrating with excitement. “<Come  _ on _ .>”

“Okay, that’s definitely not Welsh,” said Tony. “I don’t care what you’re trying to pull, JARVIS knows best.”

Clint shrugged. “It’s Old Welsh. You’re looking at the last six native speakers of it.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Technically, it’s Primitive Welsh. That’s what the linguists call the language from our era now, before it properly developed as distinct from British and Cumbric.”

“Primitive,” repeated Clint, flatly. “Fuck that.”

“Man, Cumbric was a stupid language,” reflected Griff which, okay. Yeah. 

Rhys took the cauldron from Griff. “It is time to complete our quest,” he announced, and turned towards the path that led down to the caravan park with it held high in his arms. Clint was more than willing to allow him that amount of drama, because this had been such a long time coming. Besides, Clint had been picturing this moment in increasing detail since the eighth century, and most versions had involved Rhys channelling his inner diva.

They formed what was basically a procession as they headed through the woods, led by Rhys still holding the cauldron aloft in both hands. Clint kept hold of Bucky’s hand and ignored the bitching from Tony about melodramatic tendencies, because he didn’t have a right to judge until he’d waited over a thousand years for something.

When they made it to the caravan park, there were a couple of holiday makers hanging around, who gave them all a very funny look that morphed into awe when they recognised Captain America and Iron Man bringing up the rear of the group.

The man they’d met last time they were here, who must be the manager, came running out of a portacabin that had a lopsided sign above it saying  _ Reception _ . 

“What the…? Uh.” He caught sight of the Avengers and his eyes widened. “Can I help you?” he finished, weakly.

“We require access to your land,” said Rhys. “Specifically the hill behind that caravan.”

The manager turned to look at the tangle of bushes and brambles that covered the slope where the cave had been. “Um.”

Clint stepped forward and put on his best Trust Me, I’m A Hero smile. “It’s Avengers business.”

The manager eyed him, and then looked around at the others, his eyes catching on Ifor’s geeky programmer's t-shirt. “Are you sure?”

Steve stood forward and put his hands on his hips in the classic pose he always used when he tried to play up the Captain America role. “It’s very important, sir. We’d appreciate your help.”

Bucky twitched next to Clint, pulling his hand away to rest on his gun. Clint glanced at him to see he was scanning the skies and followed his gaze to see a helicopter in the distance. Ah, the paranoia of an ex-assassin.

“Come on, dude, you can’t honestly think Captain America puts on his spangly tights to go to a Welsh caravan park unless it’s super-serious Avengers business, can you?” said Tony, stepping forward to take charge and bend the world to his will in the way that usually made Clint roll his eyes, but now would be really handy. “Because even if he did, I can tell you now that you don’t get me jetting across the Atlantic for anything less than a level three terror threat.”

The manager’s eyes widened. “Terror threat?!” he asked, glancing around at his collection of shabby caravans. “I don’t–”

“Okay, no, my bad,” interrupted Tony. “No terror here, nothing to worry about, we dealt with that in Norway already, we just-”

“Get down!” shouted Bucky, pushing Clint to the ground as the helicopter opened up fire, bullets skidding across the dirt around them.

Rhys dove down to cover the cauldron as Tony slammed his facemask shut and took off, repulsors already firing at the threat. Clint glanced at Natasha to see that Steve was covering her with his shield, then grabbed Bucky’s waist and rolled them so that he was on top because, seriously? Why the hell would this idiot try and protect the immortal guy when he was the vulnerable one?

He grabbed for his gun, turning to try and shoot back, but Tony had already taken care of it. The helicopter wobbled, then went into a spiral down, smoke billowing from the engine as it crashed into the woods.

Clint wasn’t paying any attention to the crash, though, because a dark figure had jumped out while it was going down.

Oh shit. Of course this fucker wasn’t dead, that would have been way too simple.

“That is mine!” announced Red Skull, advancing on Rhys, who clutched the cauldron to himself. “Return it!”

“Or what?” asked Rhys, getting back to his feet. “You can’t harm us, and you’re alone.”

Red Skull’s poor excuse for a face broadened into a grin. “I can’t harm you, but you are the good guys,” he said, and he pulled a gun, pointing it right at the caravan park manager. “You won’t let some poor innocent come to harm.”

Ah, crap.

Clint scrambled to his feet, pointing his gun at Red Skull even though he knew it was pointless, and he was aware of the other Avengers doing the same with their own weapons.

“Give it up already. We won,” he said.

“Plus,” added Llywelyn, “we’re not all good guys. I’d happily let you take out some random guy rather than give the cauldron back to you right now.”

Not for the first time, Clint wondered how the hell he could be related to the guy.

Red Skull sneered at him. “Captain America won’t let you do that,” he said. “He’s all for protecting the worthless. Give me back my property.”

“It’s not your property,” said the caravan park manager, stepping forward and, whoa. There was a sort of ripple effect starting at his head and cascading down his body, replacing his forgettable modern outfit and uninspiring haircut with long white hair and a beard to match, and a rough-looking tunic with a long cloak draped over one arm. “It’s mine.”

“You!” Clint said, probably a bit accusingly, and jabbed a finger at him.

“Me,” agreed the druid.

“Why the fuck were you making a song and dance about letting us in to give you the damn thing back?” asked Clint.

The druid gave him a pointed look. “You  _ burned _ my shrine.”

Clint stared at him for a long moment, then flailed his arms in the air. “Dude! That was  _ fifteen hundred years ago _ ! Get over it!”

“You know, I could say the same thing to you,” said Llywelyn. “Given that you’re still blaming me for the whole thing.”

Clint glared at him. “Shut up.”

Red Skull cleared his throat. “Give me the cauldron,” he said, trying to get control back over the situation.

“No,” said Rhys. “It’s not yours and I will not bow to your threats.”

The druid stepped over to him and held out his hands in a pointed manner, and Rhys handed it over, with more reluctance than Clint would have had. It may have taken them centuries to find it, but that didn’t mean he wanted the cursed thing around any longer than it had to be.

“As I said, it’s mine,” said the druid.

Cap stepped forward, shield hefted on his arm. “I suggest you surrender now, Schmidt,” he said. “You’re alone and surrounded.”

Red Skull glared at him. “You can’t hurt me,” he pointed out. “My possession of the cauldron made me immortal, and so I will never be defeated.”

“That’s only partially true,” said the druid. “You see, you don’t possess it any longer.” Red Skull turned to glare at him, and the druid gave him a calm smile. “I have it now. I choose who benefits from its powers.”

Red Skull frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t get to even speak the first word before his vivid red skin faded into white and his whole body collapsed into dust.

“Holy shit,” breathed Griff. Clint stared at the pile of dust that used to be a terrifying Neo-Nazi dictator, and had to agree.

“Uh, quick question,” said Tony, raising his gauntlet like he was in class. “That’s not going to happen to Clint and the rest of these guys when you lift the curse, right?”

The druid paused for a worryingly long moment, then shook his head. “I told them that they would have their lives back, and they will,” he said. “They are frozen in time, and once the cauldron is back in the shrine, they will unfreeze, and start aging again. Moving closer to death, just as everyone else does.”

Thomas clapped his hands together with glee. “That sounds excellent. Let’s get to it.”

The druid nodded and turned to lead them back towards the hillside where the shrine had been. Clint glanced at Bucky, who was glaring at the pile of dust that had been Red Skull, then reached out to take his hand as he followed after the others. Bucky allowed himself to be pulled away, but Clint noticed he kept his gun in the hand that wasn’t holding Clint’s. Well, whatever made him feel happy.

When they got around the back of the caravan, all pressed together to fit in the space between it and the start of the brambles, the druid held the cauldron up even higher over his head, and said, “<Open your doors to me in the name of Cerridwen, Lady of Wisdom>,” in Welsh that managed to sound old-fashioned even to Clint.

The bushes on the hillside twitched, and then pulled aside like a curtain, revealing an entrance to a cave that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Fucking magic,” muttered Tony, but Clint didn’t bother glancing around at him. Anticipation was fizzing in his stomach. Holy shit, they were finally here. They were finally ending this and taking back their lives.

The druid walked forward to the stone altar at the back of the cave and set the cauldron down on the centre of it. He regarded it for a long moment, then nudged it slightly to the left, before turning back to the six of them. Clint’s heart was in his mouth as he just stared for a second, then sighed and raised his arms.

“The curse is lifted.”

Clint had been expecting some sort of magical special effects to go along with that statement, but nothing happened. He glanced sideways at the others, catching Griff’s eye, who shrugged at him.

“Are you sure?” asked Ifor, looking at his hands as if expecting to see some kind of difference.

The druid gave him an exasperated look. “There was no physical sign when the curse was cast, why would you expect to see one now it has been lifted?”

He made a good point.

Bucky tugged on Clint’s hand, pulling him around so that he could run his eyes over his face, as if taking in every detail. “I think I see wrinkles forming.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Bucky grinned and kissed him. Clint heard a sigh from Rhys that he ignored as he wrapped his arms around Bucky and pulled him in close.

“We’re free,” said Thomas. “Oh, thank god, we’re finally free!”

“Gwion, pay attention,” said Griff, grabbing his shoulder, and Clint reluctantly pulled away from Bucky’s mouth to glare at him.

“I need to get back to Valencia,” said Griff. His whole face was lit up with joy and Clint couldn’t resist grinning back. A shiver of delight ran through him as the realisation that this was finally over hit him all over again.

“What’s the hurry?” asked Thomas. “Surely we’re going to celebrate with a drink together?”

Griff shook his head. “There’s a woman named Carolina,” he said. “I need to ask her out before I lose my chance.”

“Is everyone going to immediately jump into a relationship now?” asked Ifor, sourly.

“What do you care?” asked Llywelyn, edging past Clint and Bucky to get out of the narrow space and clapping a hand on Clint’s shoulder as he went that would probably be the only sign he ever gave on how he felt about Clint getting together with Bucky. “After this, you never have to see any of us again.”

A smile grew on Ifor’s face. “That’s true,” he said. “Gwion, take me back to Dublin so I can start on that.”

“Are they always this demanding?” asked Bucky.

“Basically,” said Clint, kissing him again. “The sooner we play taxi though, the sooner we can get back to New York so that I can take you out.”

Bucky grinned at him. “You make a good point.”

The rest of the Avengers headed straight back to New York, although not before Steve had made it very clear that if Clint wasn’t back in the Tower in the next few hours, they’d come looking again, and then Tony had started talking about redecorating Clint’s room with leeks and dragons, and Natasha had gripped tightly at Clint’s bicep, given him a hard glare and said they’d talk later, which was vaguely terrifying. Clint had been hoping that the fight in Norway and the unexpected trip to Wales to break a centuries-old curse would distract her from how pissed with him she was but apparently no such luck.

Clint ended up giving everyone a lift home, which gave him a chance to pick up his bow from Thomas’s and give him a hug goodbye. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing him again.

“<I wish you all the happiness that has been hiding from us for all these years,>” said Thomas, slapping at Clint’s back. “<Enjoy every moment with your man.>”

“<I will,>” said Clint, not quite able to bring himself to let go just yet. “<Don’t make any hasty choices.>”

Thomas smiled at him. “<There is nothing hasty about this choice,>” he said. “<I made it a thousand years ago, and have not wavered on it.>”

Saying goodbye to Ifor was a lot easier, mostly because he just gave them all a vague wave, then headed for where he’d parked his car without another word.

“He’s not really a people person, is he?” said Bucky, which was saying something if the broody ex-assassin had noticed.

“Nope,” said Clint as he took off. “For centuries he spent every lifetime finding excuses to hide away with books, and then they invented computers and he never looked back.”

Griff was itching with anticipation by the time they reached Spain. He took the time to embrace them all, but it was clear his mind was already on the woman who he had spent most of the flight texting.

“Good luck,” said Clint as he jogged down the quinjet ramp. 

Griff glanced back with a dazzling smile. “I won’t need it,” he said, with confidence.

Llywelyn asked to be dropped off in the German countryside, not far from Berlin.

“Stay out of trouble, brawd,” Clint said to him as he got off. “I don’t want to have to keep rescuing you from neo-Nazis.” He hesitated, and then added, “Or to have to arrest you.”

“This would be a good opportunity to leave the criminal life behind,” added Rhys, giving Llywelyn his God-is-judging-you look, which Clint seemed to find a lot less irritating when it was aimed at Llyw rather than him.

Llywelyn just snorted. “Not a chance. Do you have any idea how much money being a criminal has made me?”

Right, of course. Clint just rolled his eyes at Llyw, who grinned at him as he left the quinjet.

Rhys had insisted on being the last to be dropped off because of course he was going to make Clint criss-cross Europe before he finally got to head back home. His parish in Norfolk was rural enough for Clint to find a quiet field to drop him off.

Rhys hesitated in the doorway, looking back at Clint and then at Bucky. “May God be with you,” he said, and Clint snorted, reaching out to take Bucky’s hand and give it a squeeze.

“Not sure your version of God is going to be all that keen on my immediate plans,” he said. “I mean, I know you’re not.”

Rhys shook his head. “I want you to be happy,” he said. He fixed Bucky with a long look. “I hope you will do your best to make sure of that.”

Bucky gave him a very unimpressed look. “Kinda feels like that’s between me and Clint.”

Rhys acknowledged that with a nod, then stepped off the plane. Clint waited until he was completely off and the door was shut before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Oh man, I am so ready to go home,” he said, taking off again.

“I’m so ready to have you home,” agreed Bucky, leaning over to press a kiss to Clint’s cheek. Clint just grinned at him. Fuck, how was this the life he actually got to keep? How had he got this lucky?

Well, okay, it was balanced out by the centuries of shitty luck before that, but still. Getting to be an Avenger, having friends like Natasha and Steve and Sam and, yeah okay, even Tony, and then getting Bucky as a boyfriend on top of that, and knowing there was no time limit on any of it. He could have all these things for the rest of his life.

His face was starting to ache from the width of his grin, but he couldn’t seem to wipe it off. “How do you feel about Italian?” he asked.

Bucky shrugged. “As long as you’re the one sitting opposite me, I don’t really care what we’re eating.”

Okay, Clint could definitely work with that.

  
  


**** 

  
  


**EPILOGUE**

  
  


It was technically Clint and Bucky’s fourth date, although living in the same Tower made it hard to pick out what was a date and what was just hanging out. They were snuggled together on Bucky’s sofa, empty pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of them as Clint winced his way through  _ Highlander _ .

The choice of movie was definitely Tony’s fault. After the fifth time he’d called Clint some variation of MacLeod or Highlander, or even just yelled ‘There can be only one!’ at him while Clint was waiting for the coffee machine, Bucky had insisted on seeing the movie so he could get the references.

“So, the main thing you and the others seem to have in common with these immortal guys,” said Bucky as the bad guy confronted MacLeod in a church, “is the sheer level of melodrama.”

Clint shrugged, using the movement to settle in closer against Bucky’s side. “You’ve got to find some way to bring the excitement after a couple of centuries.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. “Guess Steve’s drama is just him getting a headstart on that, then,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Clint. They made out for a few minutes while MacLeod angsted on screen, then separated in time for the next fight scene.

“Getting the cauldron back seemed like a fucking bullshit mission at the time,” said Clint as the two guys went at it with a lot of pointlessly showy sword fighting, “but it was a lot better than having to hack the heads off the others.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” agreed Bucky. “Pretty sure it would have been over a lot quicker if you just had to decapitate five guys, though.”

“Right,” agreed Clint, “but then I wouldn’t have still been around to meet you.”

That earned him an eyeroll and a pleased smile that he couldn’t resist kissing.

The movie paused and JARVIS said, “I apologise for interrupting, Agent Barton, but you asked me to let you know if there was a news alert for Gareth Evans.”

Clint sat up. “Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Hit me.”

“Gareth Evans has been reported dead,” said JARVIS, and a news article appeared on screen.

_ Poet Gareth Evans Found Dead In Home _

_ The poet Gareth Evans, best known for his Welsh language compilation ‘Angharad’ and winner of the Eisteddfod chair in 2012 and 2015, and the crown in 2013, has been found dead in his home. The police have ruled out foul play but are not releasing any further details at this time. _

Clint stared blankly at it. He’d known this was coming but that didn’t make it any easier.

Bucky sat up so that he could loop an arm around Clint’s waist. “Is that Thomas?”

“Yeah,” said Clint, turning so he could press his face into Bucky’s shoulder. “He always said he’d kill himself as soon as we got the cauldron so that he could be with his wife and kids. I guess I just hoped he’d change his mind once the curse was actually lifted.”

Bucky tightened his arm around him. “I’m sorry.”

Clint took a deep breath. “I knew it was coming,” he told himself. “He’s where he always wanted to be.”

Bucky’s hand stroked over his hair. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No,” agreed Clint. He forced himself to sit back up, although he didn’t move away from Bucky. “But it was the point of the whole thing. That we’d finally be able to move on with our lives. Or our deaths, if that was what we wanted.”

And that had been what Thomas wanted. They’d all known that.

At least this was proof that the curse was definitely lifted. If Thomas was dead then they were all definitely mortal now.

Bucky kissed him. “Do you need anything?”

Clint shook his head. “JARVIS, can you put the movie back on?”

He didn’t really pay attention to the end of the movie, not that the plot really required a high level of awareness. Instead, he pressed as close as he could to Bucky and tried to picture Thomas in some kind of afterlife, kissing his wife in greeting while his sons and their children surrounded him in welcome. He didn’t even know if he believed in an afterlife, but if he did, that was what he’d hope for.

Once the credits started rolling and Freddie Mercury was wailing about magic, Clint shifted around so that he was lying half on top of Bucky and could easily reach his lips. He kissed him through the entire credits sequence, which Bucky really didn’t seem to have a problem with if the way he held Clint close was anything to go by.

Clint’s hand crept underneath Bucky’s shirt, moving up to rest against the warm skin at his waist, and he pulled back to take a moment.

This was about as far as they’d got since Clint had come back to New York. He’d been trying so hard to prove that he wanted a proper relationship with Bucky, and not just the casual sex they’d had before, even though that had been smoking hot and definitely something Clint wanted to revisit at some point. He’d really fucked up by trying to keep things casual and he wanted Bucky to know that things were different now.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t just about ready to rip Bucky’s clothes off with his teeth so that he could get his hands all over his body again, of course.

Bucky was giving him a warm, contented smile that didn’t entirely hide the arousal buried underneath. “So, I heard there are sequels.”

Clint groaned. “Come on, man, I sat through one of these things, please don’t make me go through that again.” He leaned in to kiss him, stroking his hand over the skin of Bucky’s waist. “Not when we could be doing so many other better things,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Bucky’s smile widened into a smirk. “Yeah? You got something else you want to be doing right now?”

“So many things,” said Clint, and kissed him again. Bucky shifted on the couch so that Clint was straddling his thigh, holding him close so that they were pressed together and running a hand down to cup his ass.

They made out for a while longer, letting things get hotter and heavier between them, then Clint made himself sit back, pressing his palms to Bucky’s chest and looking down at him. Bucky put his hands over Clint’s and looked back.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

It was pretty clear what he was really asking. Clint took a deep breath, reminded himself that he already knew how Bucky was likely to answer this, and asked, “Can I stay the night? I don’t– We don’t have to do more than this, I just want to have you there, and wake up with you in the morning.”

“I want that too,” said Bucky, and Clint couldn’t keep back a grin. Bucky sat up, dislodging Clint so that he was basically in Bucky’s lap and wrapped his arms around Clint. “I want that for any night you’re up for it. I have been for a while. I don’t think I’ve been a whole heap of subtle about it.”

Clint ran his hands through Bucky’s hair and kissed him. “You haven’t, but I figured I should check.”

“No need,” said Bucky. “You can stay forever, if you want.”

Clint grinned at him. “Not forever any more,” he reminded him. “Just for the rest of my life.”

“That works for me,” said Bucky, and pulled him back down into another kiss.


End file.
